poem, in memory of

In my collection of poetry I have many poems, which are written for special occasions and special people. I suppose that is true for most poetry. Poetry, I believe is a form of inspiration that has interpretation for all who read it. The following was written in memory of an avid fisherman.

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A FISHERMAN'S HARBOR

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A working man is who I saw,

When tales he told of younger years

His body strong with arms like steel

He wrestled men midst rousing cheers

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A fisherman's heart - he searched the coves.

The inlets, lakes and streams

In waters rough, in waters slow,

His hands too tough to let the big ones go.

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Of hooks and lures he learned the craft

He fashioned flys with finesse

Then passed his skill to other folk

Those who would follow aft.

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He loved his home, he built it well,

Oh - not with wood and stone.

But love and care that are the steps

Which make a building - home

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For 50 years he lived among us

He labored with the best

In idle times he carved in wood

His skills were never loss.
All the while with perfect hands,

God carved for him The Cross.