My Fishing Boat ( a poem for memories)
My days on the water, those sunlight times, all so joyful, full of cheer,
Every hour spent, as a dream's accent, in my boat, that I did steer.
At a dawning of light, to break the night, I was prepared, ready to go,
In days of blue skies, no fisherman denies, even when wild winds to blow.
Those early days, so happy the times, and to fish for any reason or rhyme,
Now as I've grown old, every hour as gold, Each trip much more sublime.
My favorite hour, on my seat as a tower, just as the sun prepares to retire,
The feeling I adore, as a king to implore, this kingdom to honor its sire.
All Reds the bright gold, a beauty so bold, a sunset's radiance to behold,
The day's last light, soon to fade from my sight, as curtains of night unfold.
My last fond cast of the trip to last, in a fine memory, of a time, well passed,
My thoughts for tomorrow, of past trips, I borrow, a rising sun to come so fast.
While in my bed I rest, this day the best, a fishing trip to always remember,
My Hopes to sore, will be many more, in store for me, January to December.
Nightly visions bright, throughout the night, awaiting the sun's dawning light,
My dreams soar high, and in sleep I try, to reminisce, in such a wonderful sight.
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