The fisherman's tale

Have I told you yet the story

About the simplest man of all?

Yes, the man who wakes up early

Staring at an orange ball.

Wakes up just to stare there, lonely

At the waves that break and fall.

Every day he'd feed his glory,

Catching fish, some big, some small.

Not a single day he'd worry

If he doesn't catch at all.

Never blinded by the fury,

Not a punch has hit his wall.

When he does not catch, he'd surely

Wait there, standing still and tall.

Yes, this man awaits there lonely,

Does not mind the waves that fall,

Does not mind to come and show me,

Nor to show it to you all,

How to fish and fish there only,

Staring at an orange ball.

All he wants is all he does,

Be it spring or be it fall.

Every day, for many hours,

He'd be on his duty call.

Every week, in every season,

All vicissitudes he'd roll,

To catch fish or just good reason,

Feed his body, mind, and soul.

Have I told you now the story

Of a man with just one goal?

To catch fish or sun rays solely,

Or the waves that make him whole.