The Final Cast

It doesn't matter whether, the weather's foul or fine,
What better way to spend the day than with a rod and line,
You'll need the patience of a Saint and a wiggly worm for bait,
Then sit and stare at the float out there,
And wait, and wait, and wait.

The day drifts by, you've had your lunch and not a fish in sight,
But still you sit and sit quite still just hoping for a bite,
With any luck you'll catch a roach, or rudd, or tench, or bream,
But otherwise, well, just sit back and dream and dream and dream.

But now it's dark, your time is up, you've made your final cast,
Pack up your nets, your rod, your line, your chair, your thermos flask,
It's time to put them all away and safely into store,
You won't be needing rod and line, no more, no more, no more.

by Brian Barnett

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Comments (2)

Very metaphorical piece of poetry, well articulated and insightfully penned with nice rhyme scheme. Death is a bad reaper often going after unripe fruits, but then we must always remember that DUST TO DUST IS A MUST. Thanks for sharing. Please read my poem MANDELA - THE IMMORTAL ICON. ➕9
A lively tribute for your brother, Brian. Thanks for sharing. Peace