Found the time to write a rhyme,
Which is not very good.
Nor is it fun, but it is done.
At least it is not rude.
It follows now....
So many fish playing there in the pond
Disappear into the back of beyond.
The fish fly out and feed starving gulls,
Who come swimming low when the storm lulls.
The fish, unaware of this chain of food
Keep flying high for their health, which is good,
While , like planes watching out,each single bird
Lands low for the meal, of which he has heard.
There are not many fish, now left to play,
The gulls find it harder catching their prey.
Numbers diminish of birds in the sky,
Multiplying fish don't stop to ask why.
Another day comes, and back to the start,
The fish congregate, and so play their part.
Soon they are spotted by those eagle eyes,
And disappear somewhere into the skies.