There’s an eddy in the Pemi
where if a flyman plays it right,
he’ll distinguish himself, surely,
by luring in a bite.
With a jig and a twitch,
the flyrod will dance,
and when the trout comes about
he’ll cast out the next chance.
Flicking his wrist,
he’ll draw in his prey,
and imagine how poets
will speak of this day.
How songs will be sung
about the things that he did,
all the burdens he carried,
all the love that he lived.
How he climbed mountains galore,
and worked like a dog,
managing to lift
so much of life’s fog.
And maybe if he’s lucky
and particularly famous,
many years later they’ll remember
what his name is.
But they probably won’t—
most likely it’ll be lost.
Another coin in the well
at too great a cost.
Because while he’s standing there,
dreaming about,
casting out hope,
arresting self-doubt,
He yearns to see more,
to lend out his care,
and let them all know
that he’s always been there.
That he’s always been casting
his spirit their way,
hoping to give it
before there’s nothing to say.
So they can be better
than when he started out,
and create something good
for others to tout.
No, they won’t know this cast
or the battles he fought,
but if he’s lucky they’ll know
the feelings he caught.
And years from now,
when his children’s children are fed,
all that he was,
will be unknowingly said.
— ❧ —
Poetry From the River
Was rolling down the highway the other day and got to thinking about what it is that we really live for. A lot of us waste time thinking about how we will be remembered in terms of accomplishments, but our true aim should be to bestow love and kindness on the next generation, and all around us, and teach others how to navigate life with as much intelligence, humility and grace as they can achieve. To help them, our aim should be to give them an example to lean on. And the more we do right in our own lifetimes, the more of us—if not our names—shall be remembered.
If you’d like to read more poetry like this, please check out In Verse.