Baby Platy
In the tank are eighteen fish,
Or maybe there are twenty.
It’s hard to count them, but to me,
It seems that there are plenty.
The tank is not too spacious
But with pebbles and live plants,
The black and orange platys
Do their slo-mo floaty dance.
Yet I was shown a baby
Hiding underneath the leaves
And there might be another one,
Or so my son believes.
It’s cool to see how creatures
Have their instincts kicking in,
Doing what they can to stay away
From hungry next-of-kin.
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