Tackle box upon the bench, all drawers open, the lid askance,
overflowing with lures of every description, lines and hooks
in every size, bait of all kinds.
Back and forth from the lake to his box, trying out one after
another, nothing working.
Still casting out, a little child filled with high hopes,
praying to catch even the smallest of fish before he must
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem