The Fisherman.

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The Fisherman.

The fisherman goes out at dawn
When every one’s abed,
And from the bottom of the sea
Draws up his daily bread.

His life is strange ; half on the shore
And half upon the sea –
Not quite a fish, and yet not quite
The same as you and me.

The fisherman has curious eyes ;
They make you feel so queer,
As if they had seen many things
Of wonder and of fear.

They’re like the sea on foggy days, –
Not gray, nor yet quite blue ;
They ‘re like the wondrous tales he tells
Not quite – yet maybe – true.

He knows so much of boats and tides,
Of winds and clouds and sky !
But when I tell of city things,
He sniffs and shuts one eye !

~ Abbie Farwell Brown

 

 

 

 

Art Nicola Bayley
Text & image source: Snowwolfs Woodland Nook https://www.facebook.com/Snowwolfswoodlandnook/

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