Prune

I kept a fish, his name was Prune. I loved that little purple pet...

He passed away one afternoon, and filled my heart with deep regret.

Hold on! Come back! Just wait a minute! It's too late now... My fish is gone!

I had a bowl with a Betta in it, but all things pass, and he passed on.

I fear his death is all my fault... I fear I killed my Betta beauty...

I fear his swimming came to halt all due to my neglect of duty.

I fear that my procrastination to cleanse that splendid swimmer's dish

Caused such a sickening situation, it killed my faultless little fish!

I told myself "I'll clean that mess, but it can wait until tomorrow!"

I never did though, I confess, and now my heart is filled with sorrow.

I wonder every now and then, how long would he have stuck around

If things were how they should've been? I wish that time could be rewound!

But the past has now passed, and the fish I loved most

Was defeated at last, and he "gave up the ghost".

I found him floating upside-down on April 1st, the day he perished.

He had no fame or great renown, but in my heart he will always be cherished.

All things here were written, each word, line, and letter,

On behalf of a fish that deserved so much better.

Dedicated to Prune, a good fish.

-By Gideon

My Poor Fish

I have a Betta fish named Prune
I bought a few years back in June.
I thought he'd bring me happiness,
and though I hate to, I confess
I never stopped to think ahead
About the thing I've come to dread,
The thing that's come to haunt my soul,
The thing called "Cleaning out his bowl"
It's lame, although I'm no complainer,
to scrub that purple pet's container!
It's not the fish, please realize,
but his gross dish that I despise.
The poor, poor thing, I shouldn't speak,
but I don't clean it every week...
In fact, I'm doing good I fear
to clean it once or twice a year!
You think that's bad, the way I treat him?
Well I don't always even feed him!
So, yes, I'm cruel, but that aside,
I love my pet who loves to hide,
and I will keep my grown-up guppy
until I find him belly-uppy!
And at the time he dies, precise,
He'll head to fishy paradise!
-By Gideon

Rhyming for Fun sans Sun

I love to write, I love to rhyme,
I love to do it all the time!
I love to sit and think of words
that sound the same, like "Thirds" and "Birds".
But most the time, and no offense,
I like to make my rhymes make sense...
Except for evenings like tonight
when I'm too tired to function right.
Then all my rhymes will simply be
a waste of time, as you can see!
But hey, if you have read this much,
then I must have the rhyming touch!
This is so bad, so bad I think:
my pen is running out of ink.
I won't be able now to write,
but that's alright, for it is night,
and I shall go and rest my head
upon my stinkin-linkin bed.
And if you think this note is not
worth reading, then forget that thought,
for here is something you have gained:
this note has kept you entertained!
At least, I really hope it has...
If not, go listen to some jazz!
-By Gideon