The tide of war

I see the world distorted by currant and wind
As my beams refract from trench to crest
Where overhanging trees allow them to pass
Unmolested by their shadows of wrath
That hide the bass from the helpless dace
Whose only strength is in numbers
So that heavy casualties do not make scarce
But do create fat bass
For dace love to march in the algae-rich moonlight
A fault one thousand eggs apiece permit
Look to me, young dace, with weary eyes
I would illuminate what you seek
But you cannot gaze beyond the water
You see the world distorted
So I sigh a gentle breeze
And pull the river higher...