
The early morning, the time when
fishermen go out to sea again
gone are thoughts of nice warm bed
but think of tide and wind instead,
for now the sea is calm and flat
but before too long they might find that
the calm waters of the estuary
have become a foaming raging sea
and with a silent prayer to God
they can start to hunt the elusive cod

Trying again to leave a comment here… looks like I’ll succeed. I like this poem, it has such a genuine feel to it.
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