The Trout

I was not in the mood for fishing though i brought all the gear and Settled into my comfortable mode Of tranquil bliss by the edge of the pool But you being the older wiser trout Stirred the stillness of the pool Your proud fin cutting the surface Like a sharpened tool waning and listing Your tail following as you flung yourself Like a trapeze artist with an invisible swing The tree branches hung low overhead Like a circus tent and i with a front rose seats Watched in awe and surprise As if every fish scale glittering in the sun Was a diamond and with your final splash As you arched your torso and disappeared Beneath the blanket of water I cried Tears of joy of love tears of joy of loss And tears of joy of being serenaded by A voiceless wise old trout