A boat that rides the tranquil waves;
A lake that sings melancholic hymns.
Afar, a shore that signals beckoning hope;
With huts that dot it with lights, beautiful homes.
There's fish to be had and a fire to stoke;
Coals red hot, steaming noisy pots.
There's rice to feast on, a leaf to eat from,
And tiny stools to take the solemn meal.
The net had been cast, the catch was plenty;
There were to be, a feast for everybody.
But the winds blew strong, the gust was angry;
The fishing lamp was nowhere to be seen.
The night was black and the stars a-shining;
The lake breeze sweeps, cool and refreshing.
A peaceful sight, a silent retreat;
For the fishermen, who never made it.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Overturn
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