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Michael Farmer

A Fishing Poem

A Fishing Poem

He was a gentle old man
Who reluctantly spoke
And he’d sit on the pier
And he’d fish and he’d smoke
His eyes and the lines on his face told a tale
While his leathery hands drew the bait from a pale

This man once a lad on this very wharf stood
And he leapt and he shouted as loud as he could
For each tiddler that wriggled on the end of his hook
With excitement and pride he would offer a look
To everyone passing “hey see what I caught”
And he’d show them his fish and he’d ask what they thought

But a lifetime had passed for that excited, fair boy
Many years filled with heartache, discovery and joy
Countless friends that have gone, fortunes both made and lost
And yes lessons were learned but each came at a cost

[...] Read more

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