The eyes of a child, or two... or three...

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A tiny surprise for a fish of my size.

 

 

 Summoned by someone, I start to coalesce. The change is deranging anguish.

To become anyone, I'd have to confess, is a very strange arrangement to languish.

I'd just as soon hide, omnipresent, outside, in real ethereal fission and vanish,

but now deified, I must try and find who cried for mythical, twisted wit catfish.

 

 While looking around, I took as profound the number of things to address.

Air, water and ground are no longer sound and thunder of beings in distress.

But I have my mission to whomever was wishin' despite your condition or mess.

It's their decision that'll map my position and collision with which woe to process.

 

 (None mess with fish whose shattered city blocks.

I've wrestled with Ness and hammered Hydra in headlocks,

I out planted Paul Bunyan and sealed Pandora's box

but, enchanted young ones as these rock my heart to my socks.)

 

 Sweet shrimp in the morning! There's imp eyes adoring, now soaring 'cause I'm real and very!

I greet them with warning, their wee size informing that mourning they were too young to carry.

..Proceeding, they grieved of parents bereaved, how the burden of endless workin' was scary...

...and I cede to their plead that Mom and Dad need just a grin to make this Christmas merry..

Wag, wink, grin and swim, swim...

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