Hazel Grace and the Rhyming River's Gift

Young Hazel Grace, with hair so brown, Lived in a quiet, sleepy town. She loved to wander, calm and free, And search for wonders, wild to see.

One sunny morning, bright and new, She found a path, all damp with dew. It led her far, past old oak trees, And whispered secrets on the breeze.

A shimmering river, clear and wide, Lay hidden there, a joyful tide. Its waters sparkled, green and blue, A magic sight, completely new!

She cast her line, with hopeful heart, A fishing skill, a gentle art. But fish were shy, they wouldn't bite, Though she sat patiently, till light.

Then, from her pocket, small and neat, A little rhyme, so soft and sweet, She hummed aloud, a tiny tune, Beneath the morning's golden moon.

"Oh, tiny fish, with scales so bright, Come nibble softly, with your might!" And what a marvel, pure and grand, A little fish swam to her hand!

It wiggled gently, gave a wink, Right on the river's grassy brink. Then swam away, with happy flick, But now she knew a clever trick!

The fish, it seemed, loved rhyming words, More than the worms, or chirping birds! So Hazel Grace, with a happy sigh, Prepared her rhymes beneath the sky.

With cheerful verses, light and clear, She whispered rhymes for fish to hear. "Come, silver friend, with fins so fine, And gently tug upon my line!"

A tiny tug, a gentle pull, Her fishing basket soon was full! "Oh, spotted one, so quick and keen, The cleverest fish I've ever seen!"

And then another, big and round, A happy splash, without a sound. The fish they came, in joyful shoals, Responding to her rhyming scrolls.

Her basket brimmed, a wondrous sight, With fish that gleamed with softest light. So many fish! A happy haul, Enough to feed her street and all!

But as she looked, a thought took hold, A story in her heart unfolded. The river seemed a little bare, With fewer fish now swimming there.

She thought about the river's flow, And where the little fish would go. If all were caught, then what would be? No fish for others, wild and free.

So Hazel Grace, with thoughtful face, Decided then, in that calm place: "I'll keep enough for my own tea, But some must swim, wild and free!"

With gentle hands, she chose a few, The biggest ones, a happy crew. Then, one by one, with tender care, She placed the others back in there.

The river shimmered, soft and bright, A happy, thankful, gentle sight. The fish that swam, they seemed to sing, A peaceful, happy, watery thing.

"Thank you, dear Hazel, for your grace, You've left us joy within this place. For sharing's best, and leaving some, Ensures new fish will always come!"

And as the sunset, soft and deep, Young Hazel Grace began to sleep. Her dreams were filled with silver scales, And rhyming fish, and watery tales.

She knew that kindness, pure and true, Meant sharing all, in all you do. And now the river, rich and deep, Would keep its watery secrets, safe to keep.