FISHING ON STEAMBOAT WHARF.
Reading edition
High all our prisons, We can no more out; Words meant to free us, Compass us about; And a sigh means a laugh And a hymn a battle shout. But here silence mellows Starved being into life; With these dreamy fellows— Rod, reel and jack-knife— Even the caught fish are blithe. Green water laps the spiles, The silence is golden; Every little whiles I am beholden To a sea captain Of a time olden. He puts on the bait Of quahog, that gets me A bright little flipper, Or a plaice fish nets me; That I’ll haul in a whale He occasionally bets me. Silence and fishing, Sun, understanding; Fun to see off-islanders Tack in and miss their landing. Quiet winks exchanged While tobacco you’re handing. No boasting here, No meanness with minnows; Commonwealth of Bait Debts only finn-owes; And a great quiet kindness And much color blindness. Maybe it comes from Looking down so deep, Where much is hidden And much lies asleep; With your eyes on the line, Given you to keep. Quiet pipes lit, Quiet eyes reflective, Rips a silver fish From out the perspective; To go fishing on the wharf Is my one great Objective!