I'm a grandparent: Mitch's fish had babies! We only see two, so either that's all that survived the hatching/birthing process, and/or the other fish ate up the rest.
Tomorrow, look for a particularly interesting Aesop fable.
For now, I leave you with this, my favorite poem, by the Irishman W.B. Yeats:
Into the Twilight
Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn,
Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;
Laugh, heart, again in the grey twilight,
Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn.
Your mother Eire is always young,
Dew ever shining and twilight grey;
Though hope fall from you and love decay,
Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue.
Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill:
For there the mystical brotherhood
Of sun and moon and hollow and wood
And river and stream work out their will;
And God stands winding His lonely horn,
And time and the world are ever in flight;
And love is less kind than the grey twilight,
And hope is less dear than the dew of the morn.