Fish Stocks Limited HTML version

Through ice and snow and north wind's harsh blow,
Our hero would speak out some words for those below:
“One day I'll get out of here.
Ride out into that wasteland sere;
I'll go and then I'll be a man.”
Out beyond that barren land.
There once was a fish who would swim free,
Out under the foggage-green mist of the sea,
'Bove the wilderness rocky and knife-sharp with slate,
Our codling would sliver and would undulate.
Moonlit and mystic, with animate power,
The winsome, young fishlet grew hour after hour.
Through scaly skin, the soul deep therein,
Through bad and good would outpour a flood,
And announce to the world to make understood:
“The wind is my bridle here,
My saddle the wasteland dear,
I'll never be held by man,
Who could my freedom dam?
Many would try to saddle the fry,
Till monstrous it grew and threw them aside,
With chomp-bit and blinkers and jodhpurs they came,
And left broken-spirited, glumly and lame.
Every new Smugrise they all would come,
But riders of fish amongst them were none.
Through bumps on chins, tail's flick and whinny-spins,
Through bash-bish made felt the fish,
That all attempts to tame her surely would miss:
“You tie me with flaxen rope,
Frayed fibrous with vain hope,
Yet I always break loose;
That cord 'comes hope's noose.
One day the boy was watching the fish,
Buck as it threw men out into the mist.
With courage and daring and brave-heart he strode,
Up to the fish who had never been rode.
“Not saddle nor bridle nor blinkers I need,
Sure as the Smugrise this fish is my steed!”
Those lacking faith, wide-eyed all said “Nayth,”
Those arrogant men that stood to him ken.
Then this bold young upstart walked right through them,
And taking hold the codfish,