A fisherman’s dream

Sean McKee ’13 New Media, Design Editor

I’m sitting back and staring at the sky,

Waiting for the sun to rise,

When what do I see, coming over that hill,

But the first morning rays of light,

Lightly dancing on an old, gray sky.

Now warmed by the light's new rays

I stand, with open arms raised high,

Waiting, anticipating, relishing the light.

A porch bell tolls in the distance,

Giving a rhythm to those dancing lights.

Funny, I've been waiting all my life.

Waiting for this. Waiting patiently.

Waiting through storms and sunny days.

Now the morning birds are stirring,

Their voices giving tune to that porch bell’s tolling.

I can see it now, peaking over those hills.

On tiptoes I’m wavering, straining, just

For a sight of that brilliant light’s source.

A whistle wails, heralding a train,

I hear a chorus of voices growing ever louder.

Now with that dancing light and tolling bell,

Birds singing and that chorus of joy,

A familiar voice soothes, “No, not yet, but soon;

Soon you’ll be joining that chorus too.”

Last thing I see is a big smile on His face.

Waking, I see that all the fish have gone;

I see the sun’s setting on a dull red sky.

Gnarled and withered, my hands pack up my gear,

Through dulled ears, the sounds of sweet praises still linger,

And I remember that big, smiling face looking down on me.