Frayed Feisty Threads - Book IV

Perpetual Landing 1/22/2001

The rod remains arched in the fisherman’s uplifted arm
Bowed gracefully overhead, the line runs through his hand
Perpetually reaching for the fish tugging on his line
But in wooden sculpture, he remains frozen in time.

Golden rays of light dispersed the setting sun
Another day has ended, he didn’t land this one.
Tomorrow he will try again, reflexively pulling
On the rod above his head, line in his other hand.

As sure as the sun rises on this scene, it will also set
He vainly tries to land the fish into his net but
This fisherman learned long ago that patience will get
A special fish he hooked – he plays the line instead.

And days will continue to pass and night will come
Chasing its moon beyond the golden sun-lit sky
Still the fisherman reaches over the boat
Toward his fish………she is called Hope.

tuc 1/22/2001