The Fish
| Although you hide in the ebb and flow |
| Of the pale tide when the moon has set, |
| The people of coming days will know |
| About the casting out of my net, |
| And how you have leaped times out of mind |
| Over the little silver cords, |
| And think that you were hard and unkind, |
| And blame you with many bitter words. |
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