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.