I spent my childhood in a fishing town
where all the men had boats and fished the sea.
Not much to do for kids except go down
to see the boats come in. Most would agree
it lost its glamour after age thirteen.
The fish were weighed, then sorted by the men
who spent their days concerned that times were lean.
The catch brought less each week, but now and then
the price would jump a few cents more per pound.
The fishermen looked worn, their faces lined
by years of sun. "A fisher's rest is found,"
they said, "not here, but in one's peace of mind."
The years have passed, the fishing boats are few,
but thoughts and memories will always be,
as old men sit and tell their tales anew.
The sea was theirs, and they were of the sea.
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