The Land Of Plenty
The old sturgeon held his fishing pole
by Rod Mendieta
Sitting well away from the busy shoal
Right on the pond's mossy bed.
He swung it once, swung with might,
And through murky water the line sped
Out into the morning light.
My eye caught a glimpse
Of the twinkling hook there,
Floating motionless in the air,
The juicy bait a dazzling promise
Of far juicer morsels beyond
Hidden in the wondrous pond.
Oh yes, I thought,
Here my one chance to gain entry
Into the marvelous Land of Plenty.
I couldn´t help but lunge and bite
With most ravenous appetite
For no earthly food
Ever seemed so good.
The old sturgeon, overcome with bliss
And dancing on his tail-fin,
Soon had reeled me in
And then watched me bemused
Wriggling by his boots.
I gasped for air once, twice,
Gasped many times,
And though slightly discomforted
By the taste of the water whooshing in fast
I was glad to see that, indeed, at long last,
I had joined the fat gentry
In the marvelous Land of Plenty.