There atop rough sea sprayed rock, stood a bald happy fisherman, as if standing on berth side dock,wave's of life so persistent, his balance could not knock. Hour's in happy pursuit of toothed quarry,calm heart and sea-side soul, free from worry. Warm,true smile, found on long and distant transkei mile.
Rough,salt stained hand's on weathered fibreglass,focused deep eye's intent on task. Into the depth's of scum-line blue,sail's a number ten grapnel arcing perfectly, far out of view. Bait was prepped with shaking finger's, Screaming reel's, fresh in the memory linger's. An artwork of 200pound carbon coated,to the grey-finned death of Davey Jone's Devoted.
As the creation disappear's into un-forgiving blue,changing medium just like you,flasher twinkling in the darkness of depth,Once the eye's are dry and the close one's have wept. Calm has taken over and I see it it's true,the fishing god's have opened up their heaven's for you. Soul of a Sea-man has moved on a-new, after year's in pain,to where the reel's scream and the North Easter maintain, your beer a-plenty and icey cold,all kind's of fisherman friend's to share your story of old.
XK-166-9 the transkei bus, has come to collect,the 10-O circle hook in the corner of his mouth, firm and set. He is taking you with, but please don't fret,you are off to fishing bliss now and we will never forget. So see you soon but in the meantime Aurelius, don't tune spoon baboon.
23/07/2014.
No comments:
Post a Comment