My son made a net with which to fish.
Fish he did in our fond pond out back.
But yet when he fished he fished rubbish
Yet still he cast his net and never slacked.
He pulled out tires and cans alloyed,
Basket balls and purses and muck,
He found old watches and favored toys.
But one unkind day, his net stuck.
He yanked and toiled many hours
Yet no avail was proclaimed to him.
He tried everything within his powers
'Til his tiny face sunk down and grim.
Last he went inside feeling a thwart.
So I built junk fished into a fort.
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