The float bobs
once more,
the angler waits -
hooking himself
to the bait.
I pay out the line,
the reel runs out
the fishing line,
the rod - bend
further away.
The sky above
is blue with love
I move up
for the roe -
the angler holds back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem