THE NIGHT ANGLER

THE NIGHT ANGLER
An owl calls so softly through the trees
The silvery water’s cascade by the mill
The willows rustle gently in the breeze
But by the millpond all is quiet and still.

On limpid waters in the evening chill
Gossamer- like the misty curtains fall
As in the fading daylight life stands still
While night casts its dark shadow over all.

Beside the bank, a figure carved in stone
Waits patiently and watches through the night.
His eyes fixed on one distant point alone
Where in the water bobs a tiny light.

For hours he quietly sits and meditates
Contemplates the problems of his life.
A labyrinth of hopes and joys and hates.
A carousel of happiness and strife.

He dozes and in blissful reverie
His eyes grow heavy, distant and remote
Forces his mind back to reality
He concentrates once more upon the float.

A little splash: It disappears from view
Flexing his rod the angler feels the strain
The reel spins as the line goes coursing through.
Go if you must.` I’ll have you back again.

In frenzied fear it fought and dived but yet
Eventually he sensed the fish was tiring
Skilfully he coaxed it to his net
Exhausted: With its final breath expiring.

Upon the bank the angler freed the hook
Lifting the fish as on the grass it lay
And quickly he returned it to the brook
Watching it as it swiftly swam away.

The first rays from the rising of the sun
Fast heralding another dawning day
The angler, his nightly vigil done
Gathered his rods and went upon his way.

Thoughts he had had while at the millponds side
Some now resolved, some passing through his head.
Contentedly and quietly satisfied
He slowly made his way home to his bed.