Golden nets slumped in the setting sun,
Festoons of mesh have snagged ancient fishing lore.
Into those fibres old myths are spun
Of wriggling riches, to be hauled ashore.
Postcard weather, bright, calm and clear,
A shimmering silken sea,
Make us believe the waters they steer,
Give up their treasures for free.
But men chase the promise of the silvery catch,
Their skill, their strength, brawn and pride
Can never conquer, defeat or match,
The power of a gale or the swell of a tide.
Truth can be seen in a seafarer’s eyes
It’s the sea that always claims her prize.
copyright Lottie Clarke 2015