At eight years old, he fished and fished
For shell crackers and compliments;
To be a man, one did such things.
So early, before dawn
He’d head down to the waterside
With fishing hat and fishing gear;
To be a man, one did such things.
It wasn’t very long
That five could eat what one boy caught;
(That boy the size of a tackle box)
To be a man, one did such things.
To fish in summertime –
It’s like a page from history;
An era passed into the stream —
To be a man, one did such things:
While one still had hope
One could be
A man
To share is human:
Great poem! Reminds me of my father as a young lad fishing for his family and now, at 73, he still brings home the fish 🙂 Thanks!