A FISHY TALE
Poem #8 by the late Eileen (nee Earls) Breen
March 27, 1916 - May 5, 2006
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A FISHY TALE
In the Barrow near the Malt House
Swam a lonely Mammy fish
Waiting for her little baby trout
He had swum off to the weir
Now the Mammy fish knew fear
Oh, was he caught
What could have kept him out
She had told him everyday
Not to swim too far away
And If baby fish are naughty
Then their Mammy's fins turn grey
Now baby fish that morning
Had set off to have a swim
He met a pal, another baby trout
Who said, "We've swam too far
Let's rest inside this jar"
And then they found that
They could not get out
On the bank a little boy
With joy gleaming in his eye
Pulled up the jar so quickly
That he didn't hear them cry
"Oh let us back to our Mammies
That we've left so far away
For if we don't return to them
Their fins will all turn grey"
Now the bullrushes wave
O'er the Mammy fishes' grave
For they died of heartbreak
For their baby trout
So remember you and me
When we're having trout for tea
For those fish
Their Mammies still are looking out!