The Fisherman

A blank face, a poker player

Throwing his dice on a greenish table

A blank face, a soothsayer

Watching a crystal with Godly label


His worries end when he carries a rod

And start again when he lets it by

He lives alone although not odd

A hermit, a sheikh, or a wrinkled rabbi

All his senses are on waiting list

Getting ready for his biggest catch

Reclining where no one can sit

Waiting for the sea to hatch


Repetitive moments of expectancy

Even life offers a few of these

A faithful child in a world of lunacy

For him God’s wonders never cease


A fisherman I am, but not of fish

Of words, of dreams, of faith, of hope

On the best of baits, I do insist

Knowledge hooked on endless rope

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