A Found Poem by Beverly Stock
© Anton Lunkov | Dreamstime.com
Of all the gracious gifts of Spring,
Is there another can safely surpass,
This meaty, voluptuous thing--
The dapple-green, plump shouldered bass?
The ancients loved this noble fish,
And coming from the kitchen fire,
All piping hot upon a dish,
What raptures he did inspire!
Ah, hefty monarch of the flood--
How often have I cast for you--
How often sadly seen you scud,
Where weeds and pussy willows grew!
So, were he living, he should say
He gladly died for me and mine,
And, if it was his native spray,
He’d dump the sauce-And use the wine!
I would it were ordained for me
To share your fate, oh finny friend!
I surely were not loath to be
Reserved for such a noble end.
And if your stock of Rhone runs low,
However much I might repine,
I think I might survive the blow,
If plied with some Burgundian wine.
My found poem combines my words with those in “The Fisherman’s Feast,” a poem by Eugene Field, which is in the public domain.
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