Fishermen Sages

Their long stares, towards The blue horizon, mark them out From the modern, aimless crowd. They are dreamers in a dreamless world And they dread the weight of land. They ask the world for so little: All they ask for is pure calm: Small miracles of wind and wave. Their primal philosophy Is born from the elements; And their gnarled hands Evoke an ancient art. They are more aware of greater powers Than financiers & marketers: Whose gods are gold and silver Not the ultimate ground of being. They are more aware of their human frailties Than those from more removed, sanctified orders. For they are forced to confront death daily, Rather than coldly contemplate its mysteries. They patiently cast their nets for long hours Within & without for watery darlings. They don'tbemoan their shoddy, rusted equipment, But focus instead on the thriving points of the significant sea.