Fish Head Soup Poem by Nick Krakana

They would sit and stair
As clouds of steam filled the air
Fish head soup brewed in there

A visiting memory from long ago

My young eyes did watch
These two old friends
As we three did sit and think

Old Father Maxim at 83
Not a number on a jersey
Never owned a radio or TV

An original Monk was he
Lived ever so simply
Shared this meal with my Father and me

Together we'd fish all day
Old Father Maxim
Cherished his faith from the old country

Surrounded by simple things
No razor ever touched his face
It's only now I see

How their simple strength affected me

Nick Krakana Sr.
December 2017