Where have all the fish gone?
The fish we caught as children, in abundance,
with hand cut rods of bamboo or sally,
under the guiding hands of Grandfathers
with soft white hair and kind, haggard faces.

Where have all the restless Springs gone?
When we walked barefoot along muddy streams,
with jam jars of frog spawn.
When we jumped rivers like Olympians
and were masters of the little Kingdoms of our minds.

Where have all the busy, sultry Summers gone?
When we hurriedly lapped fast melting ice cream,
Watched hay and silage a making and turf reared,
Fought wars of imperial importance,
in back lanes and o’er freshly cut meadows.

Where have all the children gone?
The ones we learned to ride bikes and skip ropes with,
kicking ball until the last flickerings forsook the day.
Where have all the fish gone?
Perhaps some have eaten their fill and lie resting in deep pools.