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About This Poem
CASTING HIS LINE
Casting his line, a love affair,
despite charcoal clouds and damp air,
my father would patiently wait
and trust in his favorite bait
for sweet solitude was rare.
Heaven, to him, was a low chair
by water, mouthing a prayer,
mom would gripe he’d stayed out too late
casting his line.
Dad’s tall tales were beyond compare,
one pike was no match for a bear,
I miss how he’d ruminate...
now, his rod I appreciate,
so I take the greatest of care
casting his line.
*written Dec 6, 2012
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