Fishing Sonnet

Get a line down, something has to follow. Toss a lure to a passing muse hoping that it'll bite. A word fisher that will wallow in the shallows, flick fly back and forth, hooking the first weighty idea. We want substance, settle for fingerlings, if all we apprehend. A fat muse appears, and we at once are duty bound to hook it and rend it fit for public view. That's the problem. Each idea reduced to maximum readability. It is found on laugh tracks on redone comedy, lest one not get the point or defy good taste, rewriting Henry Potter for illiterate American audience. Fished out is our fate.