Poetry By
J. N. Khoury
Published on: 8/30/2012
Fisherman at Eve
The great, melting, golden orb of the sun Is sinking like a dying god of yore Gazing helpless at its soft reflection In the sea that caresses lonely shore. There the silhouetted fisherman is standing With his net, like the robes of a royal merman, In folds and billows around him lying As around a king, not a simple layman. The silent sea - but for its steady breathing - Yellow it is in the dying light With waves about the fisher gently heaving A giant restless beast awaiting night. The reeds along the shoreline lightly sway In a breeze that bears the salt-smell of the sea Saluting, rather sadly, the dying day That sinks into honored tranquility. The fisherman breathes deep the evening air The salt-smell, the reeds, the sandy shore And with hands deeply lined with time and care Gathers up his nets to throw once more.
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