Fishing House

Memories are grumbling.
The kettles are rumbling.
Fishing house, where the boats float innocent waves.
Glow reflected by the water,

Sandy seabed, my eyes remind.
Of the grey mullet fish, and furry cat fish.
Crabs hide and seek, stones and reefs,
So pure currents within the water stream.

Under the bridge, the seaweed adorns
the rumours of waves slamming pillars.
A boat passing near,
sail the nets and hunt the eels.

Ropes become tangled,
where dry seahorses running no more.
The recall of the water, reflect the nets that I drown,
to catch the girl I loved.

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