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.