For those who cling to coast and cove,
the vista is their treasure-trove;
though, oft, the fog enshrouds its face,
once lifted, it’s a place of grace.

As nature’s veil envelops all,
we hear the horn’s familiar call;
“caplin weather,” so we’re told,
but there are none to yet behold.

Later on they’ll come in droves,
to the beaches in most coves;
fresh or salted, take your pick,
as they’ll be gobbled-up, real-quick!

Little fishes, humble fare,
but everyone will want their share!
a rite of summer, once of spring,
much pleasure does the caplin bring!
  Submitted By: Robert LeMessurier