Lone Fisherman

Lone Fisherman

Shadows drift by, while I sit at the brook
Whispers are heard, as I lower my hook
Man I am getting senile with age,
Hearing where nothing is heard!

And the only thing they gauge,
Is this man talks absurd!!
So be it! I am happy with self....

Would rather murmur my fears to my beloved,
who listens to my every breath!
She sits beside me, prodding me to go on
And I tell her my fears of the shadows and the world beyond,
She laughs away, making me feel a bit odd
Only to get back and say,
“Man you are getting a bit old”

Is that it, I wonder again ……
Is it just my senility or is there more reason behind the pain?

How could it be, she argues with me.....
the world is ahead of her and no shadows she can see!

The webs are all in my mind,I tell myself
She won't weave after all, She is my dearest
No fish today, as I retrieve my hook
Just not my day, impossible mission I undertook.....

Looking at the stars, I sit by her grave,
With my beloved gone
I am perhaps getting more than senile by age!