I plundered through the weedy brush for endless hours.

In search of food,

In search of life.

I was left with no choice, but to go fishing.

Fishing for food,

Fishing for life.

Thus I made a makeshift pole with swampy reeds and flimsy, torn fabric from the sailor.

Mind you I am no fishing pole tailor.

Put quite simply it is fish or starve.

So here I sit fishing for food, fishing for life.