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Plea to an Angler.
Toss me back, angler my lover.
I swallowed your bait
But you have more to lose keeping and cleaning me
Than you do pulling the curve and barb out of my face
And letting me go slimy back into the stagnating pond where you happened upon me
Toss me back.
I'm on the bank in the grass
And it was a funny joke to make me fear death
But I'm losing my breath
I've got dirt on my spines
And a weed in my eye
Crouch down close
Can you see gills flapping like wings away from the whole in desperation?
I'm not really flopping anymore, not really
My eyes are clouding over
And I haven't really got the energy to open and close my mouth in that humorous way you like
Gills aren't that crisp red any longer
I'd say (if I could see them), they're already decomposing into a self-deprecating and
Worm-like pinkish brown
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