Angles from the Stream

The feet of the fisherman, they are my feet
How beautiful on the pure stream
The spirited speaking of babbling tongues
The radiant beams of the sun on the waves
All is a-voice with the urge to rejoice
All is a-flow and eager to go
A flame-winged bird on a snow-blossomed bough
Utters the spirit that sings in him now
As the fisherman angles the stream.

The song of the fisherman blends with the song
Of the bird with the flaming wings
And the water makes melody all day long
And the breeze through the willows sings.
All is a-choir with joy and desire
All is a'flame with the chant of one name
And rams and ewes sleep while snowy lambs leap
On lush greening pastures that border the deep
As the fisherman angles the stream.

The fisherman's cast carries out far
Far out on the glistering waves
And a reticent trout from its pebbly bar
Ascends to inspect what it craves.
All is awake as he comes to partake
All is intense in a realm of pure sense
And the gossamer web that affixes the may fly
Comes taught in a torrent of light
And a battle ensues in which victors lose
And winners return to the night.

Then the fisherman cradles the trout in his palm
Where old battle scars still I descry
And dislodging the hook, sets me free in a brook
Whose spring is the Light in the sky.

 

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