When the day wipes the dawn's frost
He dumbly and dutifully waits on
A duty he always calls
And the fisher must respond
But he's covered coldly
From the breath of the sea
That walks between his teeth
And shiver his spine to the feet
A fate he whishes to keep
But life's thongs he hate.
The day waits the fisher
The time waste the fisher
So his bait he must cast.
In the midst of silent wavelet
Must he wait patiently
In his motionless wooden boat
And admire the skin of the waters afloat
Until the grim in the line
Make his grip to opine
With gayap he welcomes the day's shoal.
Each day to this call
The fisher must respond
Seldomly he embraces the sea
To win the family
But when not the grim in the line
His grip he does not opine
He treks home long faced
Dirty shirt on the shoulder
The only companion that comforts
His broad hairy naked chest.
If the day grows older
The lazy chair rest the fisher
A fate he wishes to keep
But life's thongs he hate
So the day's call
Must he patiently wait
Another day
To embrace the sea again.
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