Tin Fish


The ships destroy us above
And ensnare us beneath.
We arise, we lie down, and we
In the belly of Death.

The ships have a thousand eyes
To mark where we come...
But the mirth of a seaport dies
When our blow gets home.


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Return to the Rudyard Kipling library , or . . . Read the next poem; To A Lady, Persuading Her To A Car

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