OLD “MAN IS HE” RIVER
The morning river cries tears the tint of tea…
fog rolling upon its sadness…
gingerly to where the trout and the old fly-fisherman meet.
Hole of pitted darkness summons his optimism…
swirling and whirling his anxious thoughts,
tenderly spiking downward to where dreams are caught.
Meandering, chartreuse leaves, that fell the night before,
once clung to hopeless birch branches.
Like man, they let go in life’s ravaging downpour.
One last fling …and one last breath….
They meet at the west end of a luring death.
The sprinkling of sun above the hills and horizon….
melts the fog where man and fish collide and…
It’s here, below the bellowing wind;
nestled in a quiet hollow,
where life comes to an endearing end.
FOR WHOM THE BELL DOTH TOLLS?
The old man with cigar in mouth and creel by his side…..
hiked the long and enchanting path back home….
To where he peacefully closed his eyes one last time….
Justin Pride "Jake" O'Brien
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