Fishing On The Bayou

Everyday the fishing pole called, hook smiled.
Everyday the bayous melted my eyes anew...

With watercolors vapid, vagrant, hyacinth-call.
And the bass waited, finning defiantly, smiling.

Sitting on that wharf, wanting that night's feast,
Realizing the feast was already before me...

What beauty to relish with seasoning of years.
What years to relish, already seasoned...

poem by Elysabeth Faslund
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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