Poem Three for the Hour Three<\/p>\n
my father was a fisherman
\nhe had his fishing tackles
\nkept at the backyard store room
\ni loved the fresh catch
\nfreshwater fish, prawns and shells
\ni would asked him
\nwhy he needed to fish
\nhis answer was, ”i love your mom”
\ni always wondered why he told me that
\nit was like a deathless joy in his heart
\ni have learned Ichthyology
\nand still a mystery for me
\nwhere do fishes came from
\nwhat would be like if there are no fishes
\nin the ocean, lakes, and rivers
\ni was in grade five
\nwhen my father died
\ni told myself i don’t like ”fishtalk”<\/p>\n
two decades and seven
\ni have learned to fish
\nat the Steveston Waterfront
\nit reminds me of the one who loved my mom
\nuntil i loved to fish and yes fish loved me too
\ni love cooking, i love serving
\nand tell my friends bon appetit<\/em>
\nit’s unfleeting words of wisdom
\nwhy good catch
\nis like my father’s love
\nto someone’s best
\nhe fished with all his love<\/p>\n
![\"fishing\"](\"http:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/fishing.jpg\")
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