Alan Bruce Thompson
It’s a quiet day, mild wind along the shore,
The fish swim near the surface, the birds come back for more.
The sea has no smell here, no rampant seaweed,
Is it the wrong kind of rocks beneath, or no nutrients they need.
A fishing boat comes close to the beach,
Dragging their net inshore, the fish are in reach.
The there is a wrenching sound,
The zealous fishers have run aground.
As the fishers run for their lifeboats,
The escaping fish don’t need the rising floats.
The fleeing catch survives for another day,
But maybe the fishers don’t like fish play.
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Comments about this poem (Fish Play by Alan Bruce Thompson )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(14 December 1895 – 18 November 1952)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- RAJ VIKRAM
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
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(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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