新詩一首

50 人贊了文章

Fishing in the golden time of a weekend

The sun strews its golden tinge, tender

Over the scales of waves flipped by the breeze.

On a leafy boat we carelessly wander,

Inebriated in our precious gift of Saturday ease.

He jerks and spreads the trawl,

I lean out and watch with awe.

He boasts about how many will be caught,

With mere luck trophies will never be brought.

Tipsy and dizzied, I look around for the fishtrap

That floats under the disguised surface of peace.

But where?

I see gleaming scales, golden and silver, bursting out

Of nowhere if not the soothing water,

Glittering, leapfrogging and dancing to Zephyr,

Which to me brings the sudden odor

From what he is briskly bragging about:

Shining goldfish and carps of silver.