The Catch

After a busy summer

 the girls finally caught their breath

 and went down to the pond to fish.

 There, they swear, was George

who they’ve caught every year.

  This time he flashed a shiny fin

and swam off with a great big grin.

“He must have learned

not to take the bait,” the younger sister said.

The older nodded sagely, her face aglow,

“Unlike some presidential candidates we know.”


This entry was posted in poetry.

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