Today is the first anniversary of Verse-afire.  When I started I wondered if I could write a new verse every day, wondered if there would be something to write about every day. Well, that has been answered. And so, on this glorious anniversary of the birth of the blog, not to be confused with the birth of the blues, I reprint my initial offering, a little something called SALMON CHANTED EVENING.

 

 

I have stood on a lonely beach, listening to the gentle shushing of the waves, fishing the Atlantic Ocean in the deepness of the night, a translucent moon lighting the water, turning the sand to glittering bits of tiny diamonds. At such moments I care naught about catching fish, for I am waiting for the moon to set, waiting for the night to surround me, waiting for the fish to sing. For they do sing, but only to those who choose to hear them. Old standards, mostly, standards like

 

SALMON CHANTED EVENING

 

Something’s fishy, people say

A slur to briny cousins

You don’t hear fish say that ‘bout us

Though reasons they have dozens

We treat them all about the same

With hook and net and trawler

We bait them with some eel or squid

And sometimes a night crawler

And all because they’re good to eat

Their taste is quite delicious

Salmon, trout or small mouth bass

Just show me where the fish is

They’re not as dumb as some do think

They talk and sing till late

Nearer My Cod To Thee is one

And another Kiss Me Skate

Come Joe Sardine In My Flying Machine

And the popular Am l Blue

I love to hear those good old songs

But I sure wish they’d sing something new