Everyday the fishing pole called, hook smiled.
Everyday the bayous melted my eyes anew...
With watercolors vapid, vagrant, hyacinth-call.
And the bass waited, finning defiantly, smiling.
Sitting on that wharf, wanting that night's feast,
Realizing the feast was already before me...
What beauty to relish with seasoning of years.
What years to relish, already seasoned...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem