The Young Fisherman
His long cane pole limber and perfect,
Patiently waiting, his eye on the bobber
For his prey, he has the utmost respect,
The big fish almost becoming his cobber.
He’d seen it swim among the rocks alone
Unmindful of its nemesis on the bank
The water clearer, he could see the stone,
He longed to hook it firmly, give it a yank.
Four times before he’d watched it feed
Once in the rocks, thrice in the shallows
A great catch it would surely fulfill a need
To cement his place among his fellows,
But the sun now approaching mid-morn
Signaled he was too late to catch today,
Beaming on the fisherman with scorn
No prize catch would there be to filet.
Written August 15, 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
