THE FISHERMAN

[Cropduster]

THE FISHERMAN

Tarpaulin stretched tight 'cross the valley awaits,
blanketing secrets below.
A million small eyes start their winking at mates.
A golden orb starts up to glow.
Reflections of ripples flecked up by a breeze
that tickles with sweet morning scent.
The lake beckons forward those whom it should tease
before all of the morning is spent.
So onto the playfield, the vast mirrored sky,
the fisherman forges his craft.
The hum of an outboard, a soft toneless cry
as bow waves tear off at the aft.
And so to the harvest, the bountiful yield,
the fruit of a dark under world.
Silver scaled treasures soon to be revealed
with rod and reel deftly unfurled.
Go forward you hunter, you man of the sea,
go forth to the watery caves,
and coax from the depths the wonders that be
nurtured beneath gentle waves.

Copyright (c) Allan Cropper March 2015

[Neville Briggs]

Going up to Lockstock for Easter camping are you Allan.