The Son Of A Fisherman Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

Upon the bank a fisherman
Now look across the river still
While seated on his folding stool
With trusted rod in hand,
That's been with him since childhood days
A father's gift so long ago
He treasures it just like a son
A memory of his life.

In days of old they shared such joy
Upon this spot they called their own
Beside the bridge and 'neath the bough
That oak still firmly stands,
He learned the skills and learned the ways
The baits to use and where to cast
The knowledge that has stayed with him
And never will forget.

For here within this leafy shade
A boy was raised to be a man
Who learned to love the countryside
And found a sense of peace,
It's now the only life he knows
And every day he lives and breathes
To watch the river gently flow
Along the valley green.

Yet now he fishes all-alone
His father sadly passed away
But proudly wears the cap he wore
That's pinned with feathered flies,
He often feels his presence here
A tutors eye a guiding hand
Where ashes spread his spirit lives
And it shall never die.