The Christmas Fisherman Poem by Colin Batters

A blanket of White laying still on the ground
By an old slow moving stream
An old man arrives but he's making no sound
He watches the water and schemes
He watches his breath, as he waits for a bite
So quiet and alone, like a thief in the night
He drinks from his flask, feels the warmth on his lips
He stands up then sits, keeping warmth in his hips
He comes here each year, cause it helps him forget
That today it is Christmas and he's had nothing yet
He doesn't crave presents, he won't dress a tree
Spends Christmas alone, just the river and he
Just waiting for something to bite on the line
Never goes home til the Church clock strikes Nine
His solitudes safe for today, that's for sure
Cause no one goes fishing at Christmas no more