Fishing Poem by Blackie Brown

I knew it to be peaceful for there were no others there,
winter, water, wilderness, wind ripples in the air.
Moisture laying heavy, sentiment hovering light,
beauty with the vastness, familiarity with night.

How could it chance be other from that presented now,
permanence of splendour, lashing at the brow.

Why would it, could it, be altered, distorted into less?
The clouds overhead circ' quizically, the land prepares the test.

The sun, asleep across the way, whilst stars hide inbetween.
The winter weaves his charming web, planned changes unforeseen.

A doubtful, wondrous certainty, encasing tombly earth,
resuscitates, rejuvinates, calls once again to birth.