Within boat of words and views,
Ink my sinker and paper my bait,
I go casting line after line
Upon the waters of Muse.
Fingers putter the pole of play
Anticipating hook's fetter
Eyes and ears survey the waves
That may carry rhythm's freight.
As lips of verse grip the sense
Hand rustles to reel out the take
Before tension becomes tatter
And free the lay in lady's lake.