Finn's Fishy Flail - A Poem

Fresh fried fish fillets fill Finn's flimsy fishing flail.

Finn went fishing, early one day,
With his flail, it wasn't so great, they say.
It was flimsy and thin, a wobbly old thing,
Not the best for catching, not even a ling.

He sat by the water, the sun shining bright,
Hoping for fish, with all of his might.
He’d brought a small net, and a bucket so deep,
But his flail, oh dear, it gave him the creep.

Then came a fisherman, with a big, friendly grin,
He carried a basket, where fish were held in.
"Fresh fried fish fillets!" he called with a shout,
"The best in the county, no room for a doubt!"

He offered Finn some, a generous share,
Golden brown fillets, with a wonderful air.
Finn took the fish, his tummy did rumble,
He thanked the man kindly, no need to grumble.

He looked at his flail, so thin and so weak,
And then at the fillets, so tender and sleek.
He carefully placed them, one, two, and then three,
Fresh fried fish fillets, for all eyes to see.

The flimsy old flail, it bent with the weight,
Of the fresh fried fish, sealed by fate.
It wasn't meant for this, it was clear to all,
But the fish filled the flail, standing proud and tall.

So Finn didn't fish that day, not a single one,
He just ate the fillets, 'til the setting of sun.
The fresh fried fish fillets, a tasty surprise,
Filled Finn's flimsy fishing flail, right before his eyes.

He learned a good lesson, that sunny day there,
Sometimes things happen, beyond all compare.
A flimsy old flail, with a fishy new load,
A funny small story, that must be bestowed.