Perch

Beneath the quiet, sun‑dappled stream,
The perch in amber shadows gleam,
Their sides like polished copper bright,
A flash of life in liquid light.

They dart through reeds where water sighs,
A flash of scale, a sudden sigh,
Their eyes—dark beads that watch and wait—
Hold secrets of the river’s fate.

Anglers cast with patient art,
Feel tug of hope within the heart,
When line grows tight and silence breaks,
The perch leaps, trembling, for its sake.

In ponds and lochs, in brooks so clear,
They thrive, they linger, drawing near—
A humble jewel of Britain’s tide,
The perch, proud swimmer, none deride.