A Fisherman's Day
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Tall masts of true winds howl,
strong, the journey's end.
For time seems long,
seasoned and weary I still stand.
Looking out the wheel house,
for a glimpse of land.
A Fisherman’s life, not easy,
by most a true craft earned.
By miles of coast, I patiently wait,
for the storm to pass thru.
As waves pound My Lady,
we still sail true.
Wicked winds howl
from the northeastern witch.
But steady on thru, we sail proud,
with all in a stitch.
Some men work,
and others play.
But in a Fisherman’s life,
it's all in a day.
Pete St. James
Written: September 13, 2003
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