*****
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Keeping this picture in my mind, i wrote a small poem; a sonnet to be precise.
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Over the edge,
I sat across overlooking the river
Tiny fish swimming over the ledge
Holding my fishing rod of silver
Can't wait to take these
Yet to get to taste as I lick
Skin quivers due to the cold breeze
A sudden jolt, as I pull my rod quick
Fishing alone doesn't make me stop
All the while I think about my mom
I look into the bucket, as I flop
The rod into it, as I loosen my palm
Food is going to be a delicacy
As my mom cooks without hesitancy
*****
YOU ARE READING
Concours; as it says! √
PoesíaThis book has attempted poetry prompts, monthly contests, and weekly challenges...written for my favorite team.
