Poeticpiers
05-06-2006, 09:20 AM
Suppertime
The waters of the lake were still,
unruffled by the slightest breeze.
Beneath the canopy of trees,
the old man sat, as old men will.
He was content to sit and fish. Until
the setting sun would guarantee
there’s insufficient light to see
and falling darkness casts a chill.
Reluctant that he cannot stay.
His ample catch will justify
the way he chose to spend the day
Our appetites to satisfy
with fish caught the old fashioned way.
With split cane rod and hackle fly.
06 May. 06
:D
The waters of the lake were still,
unruffled by the slightest breeze.
Beneath the canopy of trees,
the old man sat, as old men will.
He was content to sit and fish. Until
the setting sun would guarantee
there’s insufficient light to see
and falling darkness casts a chill.
Reluctant that he cannot stay.
His ample catch will justify
the way he chose to spend the day
Our appetites to satisfy
with fish caught the old fashioned way.
With split cane rod and hackle fly.
06 May. 06
:D