Versed on Fish
Tony Eberts
  Of all human sports and pastimes, nothing (except sex) has inspired more books, stories, reports and anecdotes than fishing. There is even a pretty hefty lineup of poetry about our finny friends, and here is an example:
HEAVEN
Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their watery noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their stream and pond--
But is there anything Beyond?
This life cannot be All, they swear,
For how unpleasant, if it were!
One may not doubt that, somehow, Good
Shall come of water and of mud;
And sure, the reverent eye must see
A purpose in liquidity.
We darkly know, by Faith we cry,
The future is not wholly dry.
Mud unto mud! Death eddies near...
Not here the appointed end, not here!
But somewhere, beyond Space and Time,
Is wetter water, slimier slime!
And there (they trust) there swimmeth One
Who swam ere rivers were begun,
Immense, of fishy form and mind,
Squamous, omnipotent, and kind;
And under that Almighty Fin
The littlest fish may enter in.
Oh! never fly conceals a hook,
Fish say, in the Eternal Brook,
But more than mundane weeds are there,
And mud, celestially fair;
Fat caterpillars drift around
And Paradisal grubs are found;
Unfading moths, immortal flies,
And the worm that never dies.
And in that Heaven of all they wish,
There shall be no more land, say fish.
--Rupert Brooke