Gnarled and scrawny calloused and bony
Hands upon the oar
With a force of will I can feel it still
That watery salty whore
The keel it cuts, it parts the wave
The rudder guides the way
The sun is up and the moon has set
Its just another day
If I could just release my mind
And free it from the thinking
Of a cosy warm, land bound job
And no more muscles aching
But until then, to the fish I must
As long as I am able
I battle with the winters hag
To put a meal upon the table
When the day, is once more done
and icy hands to set the course
I turn her head and set the tiller
I’m heading for the shore
I leave the waters cold and damp
That bitter twisted sea
That widow making, deep and blue
The fishing's not for me
