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Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Frolicking With Paranoids

There's something to be said,
For spending time
With folk,
Who live in
Beautiful places,
Dumb as they may be.

Real sportsmen prefer
Smart,
Strong,
Browns.
They are the
Trout of trout.
Wicked smart,
But sullen,
Voracious.

The rainbow,
A living sports car,
The Acrobat,
Pure joy
To watch,
And catch,
A showman,
Every one.
Yup,
They're dandy,
And respectable.
As show offs go.

Who would call himself,
A brookie fisherman?
A stalker of dummies?
You'd get
No more respect
Than the fish
You pursue.
Best to keep
Your desires
To yourself.

But in your
Silence,
You learn.
How does a fish,
So dumb,
Survive?
It is the
Purest of
Paranoids.
Stay out of sight,
Stay on your knees,
For if the slightest
Movement,
Comes in view,
You'll see
A rocket,
Head for cover,
Your catch,
In that pool,
Will be nil,
I promise.

But if you should,
By chance,
And guile,
Bring one of these
To hand,
You'll see a fish,
As beautiful
As God has made,
A living work of art,
And so he left them,
In a place,
As beautiful
As they are.

Good luck

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