Like to many shadows at the end of a long day.

Are the words of my mind as I try to write.

Beyond their fence, pulled and made tight


An attempt to create something of value.


For they hold as much water as a fisherman’s net

So I wonder, if my time would be better spent

With a fishing pole than a net.


A pole at rest between the fingers awaiting a bite.

Toes in the sand, branches in a ring of fire.


Looking up at the now starry night.

Just content for the friendly conversation

On such a fine night.

While I await better words from a finer bite.

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