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Scraps and scribbles from 1960 - 2015 |
The rod remains arched in the fisherman’s uplifted arm Bowed gracefully overhead, the line runs through his hand Perpetually reaching for the fish tugging on his line But in wooden sculpture, he remains frozen in time. Golden rays of light dispersed the setting sun Another day has ended, he didn’t land this one. Tomorrow he will try again, reflexively pulling On the rod above his head, line in his other hand. As sure as the sun rises on this scene, it will also set He vainly tries to land the fish into his net but This fisherman learned long ago that patience will get A special fish he hooked – he plays the line instead. And days will continue to pass and night will come Chasing its moon beyond the golden sun-lit sky Still the fisherman reaches over the boat Toward his fish………she is called Hope. tuc 1/22/2001  |
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