He had grown past his age and pace, I found your fifth fishing hook
I thought for a moment, for I had a moment to spare
The fish or the moment, and a let go I could not bear
For this fish had sunk, its last hook and line
And sinker, mine , no one will be let go, too
I caught him at the side of my slow and rusty boat
When you let him go, his eyes were a beautiful yellow
I found them greying, cracking under the age of woe
I hoped I could be, a little more like you
To have given a chance, and kindly let him go
Alas your poem was drowning in the whiskey
That I got drunk on last night, as the night was low key
When I fished him out this morning, the lake had not been kind
I am a mortal too, out there fishing for food to find
I let him rest on my boat, whispered him his last prayer
I hope this would satiate my hunger, and that too for the next few days
Do not hate me, for I too have a mouth to feed, mine though
This fish has seen the last of your kind, kind poet, he now rests on my boat
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