Spring was a feeling of freedom
Fall was a choice of solitude
Summer contained too much of the hot sun
But Winter, Winter could change any attitude

The man I met dressed in white
A complete stranger but he felt like family at the time
Often times we went fishing, but he wasn’t looking for a bite
He usually sat back and would just cast his line

We would do this all season except in the Fall
I never knew why, he always seemed off
We didn’t speak much, and he would often leave our trips answering a call
Through this all we were still friends that would sometimes golf

Yesterday they found him on the floor of his hotel
His heart gave out, but not before leaving a note
In the note was a map to lost treasure that led to our fishing spot and another room key that went to another nearby motel
Another piece of paper fell out it was addressed to me, a poem wrote of our travels, and a list of gear I could have from his tote.

To Mel:
Spring was a feeling of freedom
Fall was a choice of solitude
Summer contained too much of the hot sun
By Winter, Winter could change any attitude.