Fisher

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Copyright 2008. All Rights Reserved.

Got my coffee, got my rod.
Out the door by six o’clock.
If you want to go fishing with me,
you’ve got to get up early.

Early, early. If you want to go fishing with me,
you’ve got to get up early.

Like a line cast out touching the surface time again and time again.
The water’s will grants me yet another gift,
another drift, that I know not yet.

On my belly amongst the ferns, keep a sharp eye on anything that stirs.
Fanning, fanning in the current, like a scarf in the wind.

Riverside, lunchtime, bum on a rock, feet in the sand,
cheese and crackers and flaskbound makers mark.

I sift through the memories for jewels of thought.
Early spring the water’s up, just for now till summer comes.
It’s hot and hazy, it makes me lazy, a motionless mummified, tired fisher.

Riverside, lunchtime, bum on a rock, feet in the sand,
cheese and crackers and makers mark.