Catch

On a quiet river bend, the fisherman waits,
His line a silver thread that hums with hope,
He watches ripples dance where shadows play,
And dreams of silver flashes in the rope.

A sudden tug, a bright, elusive flash,
The trout leaps free, a flash of midnight scales,
He feels the pull, the water’s hurried slash,
His heart beats fast as silver whispers trails.

The net is cast, a gentle, patient sweep,
It gathers hopes, the glint of sunlit foam,
Each catch a story that the currents keep,
A memory tucked within the silvery dome.

Now evening settles, soft and amber‑tuned,
The creel holds treasures, bright and cool and deep,
And though some slip away, the spirit’s swooned
By the simple joy that every catch can keep.