The Fisherman
He casts his net in cool, deep water,
Intent on things below.
Silently I watch him work,
But he will never know.
The sun gleams off his sun bronzed back.
His muscles glisten, shine;
As sweat and water mingle,
Emphasize each line.
He comes out here most every day,
Fishing from a skiff.
Bare but for some faded shorts,
He gives my heart a lift.
Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2016
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