Fishing

Old man and young man, and a little boy, Three generations in a small canoe. One is really bored, one is filled with joy, The third is somewhere in between the two. Sunlight is flashing from rippled water. Somewhere beneath, the treasure they desire. The hours pass by and the day gets hotter. Still they search on, though one or more gets tired. A pole and some string, a hook with some bait, And a bit of worry for the weather. Patience and control, learning how to wait. It’s not the catch but being together. Then, back to shore in evening’s gentle breeze, They carry nothing home but memories.