The Fisherman

"I'll catch the creature of me dreams, burr aye."
The man made of sea-scum said to the blue,
As he, old and sour, stared out at the bay.

Determined sad sailor, hope thrown away,
He stunk of dead fish and old rubber boot.
"I'll catch the creature of me dreams, burr aye."

He croaked low through his choppy beard gray
Nothing was missed by the eye in his head
As he, old and sour, and stared out at the bay.

Beneath the water did a shimmer play
And under a stony pale face, hope bled
“I'll catch the creature of me dreams, burr aye.”

Up swam the mermaid, and to his dismay,
Her watery arrival shocked him dead
As he, old and sour, stared out at the bay.

Ghostly purple eyes to the body stray
Before she turns around and swims away
“I'll catch the creature of me dreams, burr aye.”
And he, stony cold, stared out at the bay.