(A stankie is a fly fisher’s lure, made from the down of the stank hen. Though often called the moorhen, it is more inclined to water than land..) For those who are interested, a stank is a pool or semi -enclosed stretch of water.

 When clouds they clear, blue skies embrace:
winds sough entreats to settle.
Morn’s star continues westwards chase,
its maquaillage, in molten metal.

A stank  hen swims by rivage edge,
its dark fluff chick, strives hard to follow.
Vert pike’s vedette forsakes its kedge:
for consuetude, of snatch and swallow.

Ungentle moment, it now gone,
a brief life ruled by fated measure.
What lections may we dwell upon,
or brio’s sanctity to treasure.

Where nature gives us joys to yearn,
such, rarely brings us freedom..
It sets hard lessons we must learn,
confounds, our sights of halidom.

For nature’s hand seems cruel indeed,
when it sets out a balance.
What chaos would its failures cede,
where man deems his, a dalliance?

And yet man tests a nature’s wealth,
destroys there much unspoken
What tenure does he bring by stealth,
to leave, it bare and broken.

So to that pike, deception caught,
of stankies’ fly, it questions naught.
It learns to late those lessons fraught,
when man casts, deaths protractor.

Mor.