Poetry Archives

We fish, we fish, we merrily swim,
We care not for friend nor for foe.
      Our fins are stout,
      Our tails are out,
As through the seas we go.

Fish, Fish, we are fish with red gills;
  Naught disturbs us, our blood is at zero:
We are buoyant because of our bags,
  Being many, each fish is a hero.
We care not what is it, this life
  That we follow, this phantom unknown;
To swim, it’s exceedingly pleasant,—
  So swim away, making a foam.
This strange looking thing by our side,
  Not for safety, around it we flee:—
Its shadow’s so shady, that’s all,—
  We only swim under its lee.
And as for the eels there above,
  And as for the fowls of the air,
We care not for them nor their ways,
  As we cheerily glide afar!

We fish, we fish, we merrily swim,
We care not for friend nor for foe:
      Our fins are stout,
      Our tails are out,
As through the seas we go.