How boring can a life be?
Swimming, round and round,
Endlessly,
With only a pause for food, or in a moment of fear, 

Glub, glub,
I’m not sure that’s even the right sound that you make,
And although they call you Goldfish,
To me it seems clear you’re orange! 

No matter to me,
I care not a jot,
You seem rather happy, with your sad and simple,
Empty little lot, 
But watching again,
Perhaps there’s a beauty I see,
Gently, peacefully,
Sifting through the bowl, as if life is on hold, 
And I envy your simplicity,
Plus the fact,
You’re not really gold