Sense Sonnet - Acher

Fall of Ball

My Grampa was a fisherman.
He'd tell of Lake Myvatu in
Iceland, where plain green algae can
Grow in big balls in nature's spin
By freshwater waves of each ball
To keep it free of sediment,
And assure the sun hitting all.
This ecosystem - rare event.
Fish nets often pulled up a heap.
Curse after curse was hauled upon,
Yelling a catch was of round "bleep."
Progress pollution - all balls gone.

Lake life will not be as before.
There is no fishing anymore.