Full circle
As a little boy, close to my fathers hand,
I took my first few steps.
Not knowing where I'll possibly end,
into the secrets of fishermens land
With an aging cane and a heavy float,
chasing the unexpected.
A happening that was so devote,
exiting warmth true reflexted.
As years went by, without my dad,
The Flyfishing game came on my path.
Adventurely days with rod and fly,
the days went on, as years went by.
Yesterday I sat along the river shore,
my grandson on my side.
Same cane and float, a shiver trough my core,
a wee tear was not to hide.
The young boy said "Granpa listen up"
"When's my time to fish the fly" ?
"soon my boy, your time will come"
"Before you know, you'll give it a try"
The little boy became excellent,
catching fish along every rivers bend.
So proud of what he true become,
a flyfisherman with a golden hand
As I walked along, trough memory lane,
my thoughts will be my drive
to
my floatrod, yes that aging cane,
Full circle came a fishermans life.
J. Keur
Jan, weer lekker creatief bezig!
::goodjob::
You're a great poet, Jan... AKA Bonnie John!
Sláinte Mhath!