I stand again
on old Linn Pier
As I have in many
a yester year
A forgotten rod
and reel in hand
Living once more
in a fairy land
My gaze across
that azure blue
To a skyline etched
in a vivid hue
The artist brush
and pallet of paint
Could only have been held
in the hands of a Saint
With these words
I somehow fumble
My thanks to God
for he makes me humble.
The Old Fisherman
(This was the first poem sent to the Lake Geneva paper in the early 1960's)
