Somewhere beneath the mirror,
In that liquid crystal realm
You tread.
You roll your lidless eyes
In your bony silvered head.
A helm
Of scales and opalescent mail,
Your armor (in disguise,
�Tis said)
Adorns you lip to tail.
And here sit I
Upon the bank.
I greet with cheer each rank
On rank
Of passers-by
Who ask me what I�ve caught.
But tools to pierce
Your armor? Why,
I�ve naught
But a simple pole, with hook
Attached by line.
I try
To seduce thee to stay and dine.
At least, to look
At the vulgar fare I offer:
The finest worms
And fleas.
This must affirm
I will empty every coffer
Your palate to please.
But you,
You toss your head
In mirth at me
And smirk
At the folly
Of my toilsome work.
I know you�re there
Beneath the sea,
Beneath that blue, bare
Tapestry
Of glass and foam.
But curse you!
And your fishy friends,
This is the end,
I�m going home.


Penned by my hand on the 17th of Chronos, in the year 383 AF.