FISHING AT FOUR


Like a bucket in some
child�s room, painted up
with stars, and the curling
word �dreams,� I want to
go fishing. On moonlit

streams of water, silkily
rushing over stones. I

want my feet to slide softly
into the river, no noise, only

moonlight and ripples.
I�ll cast the long line far,

baited with a bit of dreams
from that child�s bucket,

and expect a bite, sometime
around next Tuesday.



Thank you Wren, in the only way I can give something back.


Penned by my hand on the 24th of Ferinus, in the year 439 AD.