Old Tom

Old Tom is sitting on the river bank
His eyes watching the line where the hook sank
While I stumbled in tying the simplest knot
His patient fingers then showed me again
As we talked of things I learned a lot
When we just sat there quiet setting bait
And I’d watch his grace when making a cast
Another tea while in silence we wait
Our eyes fixated on floats bobbing fast
As the willowy trees whispered ‘It’s late
The time for fishing here has long gone past
Now I sit alone on the river bank
To hear the trees repeating Tom’s refrain
My memories here have never forgot


© J Farmer 2013