I met a man along the pier
With greying hair and a stubby beard
The morning air was dim with dew
He turned and smiled and I smiled, too.

His pants sagged low with smears and sweat
Of fishy residue, but yet
He showed his pride in his glowing cheeks
The catch was small, he'd not compete.

"I've done better other days," said he
With a belly laugh and his eagle's beak
I was glad for the calm of the open sea
As we spoke of bait and enjoyed the peace.

I sensed the thoughts of this quiet man
He strayed from home for this part of land
Unconnected to family he created art
Fishing renewed his soul and heart.

Soon, I walked away and found a bench
To contemplate my own events
While the man I met with his fishing line
Leaned over the rail just one more time.