He sits hunched and bowed, peering at
His line, lost in thought, silhouetted in
The sinking sun. The light of the setting
Sun, coppery-red, casting long shadows.
The ripples made large, each a profound
Tale to tell! I wonder at his thoughts, but
Don’t want to intrude. Think I to myself,
What secrets is he privy to?
What do float,
Line, bait and sinker tell him of the ripples?
He holds the line delicately in his fingers as
He nods silently at the water, in commune
With the depths.
It is as if he talks to each
Ripple as it passes, but shares none of his
Secrets with others! I sit with rod in hand,but
Hear no word from the ripples that pass,
I look once again at the ripples
And see, tragedy, malice,victory, joy and love.
If this Is the message of life, then, it is
Divine to fish, if only to watch ripples
Dancing In the setting Sun and learn of life!
For will I take the good with the bad, defeat
With victory, and go without fish, but all the
Richer for the secret that the ripples will
To see the ripples in the setting Sun,
The fisher man nodding at the water would
Draw me out in the setting Sun any day!
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