by Brian Francis
Muddy watered river flows,
gently drifting its winding path.
Farms and orchards dip in their toes,
bounded by a margin of grass.
To cast my line into its depths,
watch the ripples grow in size.
Water bugs racing to and fro,
speckled sun - a water color sky.
No need for fish to break the spell
just draw it in and cast again.
Breathe in deep that fresh green smell,
a quiver, a strike; the long pole bends
The battle is on - though fierce it's brief,
a run a pull and reel it on in.
Released back into the river - set free;
prepare the hook, cast it again.
Corn fields shimmer with a gentle breeze
birds sing songs as old as the wind,
the lane nearby long and straight.
Just draw it in and cast again.
When waking from this long suffered dream.
being the old man that I never foresaw,
I am grateful for those days in the sun
where as a child I grew both strong and tall.
Posted on 03/01/2018
Copyright © 2018 Brian Francis
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/02/18 at 05:54 PM|
There is no rush in this poem, a relaxing flow (pun ha!) which is very enjoyable for reading. Brings to mind my brother who loved fly fishing and said it was a spiritual experience. S5 really captures me and could actually be the last stanza with that last terrific line, "Just draw it in and cast again."
|Posted by Michael Anthony on 03/07/18 at 01:24 AM|
"Being the old man that i never foresaw"
that line is like a brook trout strike- it just sips quietly from the surface. Nicely Done!