The Fish Poem by chris schwartz

In the quiet of the night
You can think
You can still hear
The sound of the waves
Beneath the boat
As your prized Northern
Splashed to the surface
And you reeled him in.
The big one, caught,
But, now,
That was a trophy
From yesterday,
A taxidermist captured
The one
That didn't get away.
What good does it
Do you now?
Your prized memory
On the wall
You stare at it
Each night,
And wonder, if
You had let it run free
How gracefully
How freely,
It might have swum,
Had it not been tempted
By the bait,
You dangled in front
Of it's hungry mouth.