I thought of an abstract lake with a boat of gold.
It was a pond before it turned into a lake,
And its eclectic fishes the fishermen sold.
They say it was hit by an earthquake
That ended a tradition millennia old.

Everyone in town are now in awe of this legend
As the thread of rumor stitches through eardrum’s hooks.
The apartment of knowledge is vacant
If conscience digests what’s found not in the books.

Pirates now plunder my ponder
And snatch away all the townspeople’s goods.
One man runs with his belongings yonder,
While another hides amongst the woods.
All while of the boat the pirate king’s eyes grow fonder.

Captain orders his hawk to peck out of the boat a tincture.
And flying above the lake, the hawk lands in the mouth of a fish.
In decades of turbulent sailing, the pirate had not once seen such a picture.
The protection of his boat was a dying fisherman’s wish and
The fishes he once spared now guarded this wondrous structure.