A Child Fishing Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak
A Child Fishing
Tackle box upon the bench, all drawers open, the lid askance,
overflowing with lures of every description, lines and hooks
in every size, bait of all kinds.
Back and forth from the lake to his box, trying out one after
another, nothing working.
Still casting out, a little child filled with high hopes,
praying to catch even the smallest of fish before he must
go home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 4:44:05 PM # 1.0.0.1119
This is a charming vignette of childhood. It captures a moment that doesn't always get acknowledged the time that a child spends alone, using his imagination and taking his pastime seriously. Such time alone is an important part of a child's development and your poem shows why. He had to prepare his fishing box, choose what and how he's going to fish, deal with failure without giving up, know when it's time to go home! I can see myself in this poem, my 45-year-old nephew and my 23-year-old son - we all experienced this day of fishing alone. Thanks for kindling my memory!