Tosses out her plastic line
Impatiently waits with
The creeping of time
No splashing of water
No slow moving rod
No tugs weak or strong
At the end of her line.
Looking around she wonders
If it’s time to cast again
Then rapidly reels
Catching her hook in a
Mound of limbs.
Tugs, reels and tugs again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem