ramblings and things

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The nets are set,
The oceans trawled,
Until in good time
The nets are hauled.
Non selective
The nets take all,
Some too big
Some too small.

They throw fish back into the sea
Glazed eyes, open mouthed heads
Some of them still gasping
But most of them long dead.
But at least many gulls
Are so well fed.

We catch to quota
Day by day,
Out of quota catch
Being thrown way
To preserve the stock,
So the reasoning goes
Though whose idea
Only  heaven knows.

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