The Fisherman

A little rain is but a little pain-

A gloomy sky is not met with a sigh!

Give him a rod and give him some bait:

On the river bank he’ll sit and there he will wait.

Maybe he will sit there for the whole of the day-

With a meditative look not a word he will say…

Silence is golden and sound is cursed:

Conversation is second- the fish are first!

In anorak and boots he rigidly sits

With an old woolly hat that barely fits…

As the day wears on and the night comes fast

Of the fisherman to leave he is always last.

Not a catch he has but a smile he wears:

For this quiet little hobby he deeply cares!

Time is no issue for fishing is his life:

Alone he lives- he has no wife.

In an old shack, he spends his days-

The inside bears witness to his untidy ways!

A fisherman he is and will always be

His love of the sport is clear to see!

(Copyright Daniel Macintyre protectmywork.com 06/12/2024)

My very first poem! (??/??/2010-2011??)