Oceans of constellations
I do not cast for the usual fare when there
I’m quite the opposite Isaac Walton
When it comes to the art of ichthyology talking
I cannot distinguish crappie from brim
No, my creel consists of varying contemplations
Dreams on lines sinking into murky deep
Hopes tangled in the branches determined to keep
Joy bobbing in the sparkling undulations
And more times than not I reach my limit
The frustrated fishers feign pity my way
Some think me insane with no catch of the day
Oh, if only they could taste baked contemplation.
No comments:
Post a Comment