Who Is Caught? (metaphor)
The old man fixed his fetid bait
To rusty brown hook's spindle base,
As scorching sun marked lulling gait
Of dory's fate in God's embrace.
His callused hands dropped weighted line,
He watched it slip down through the sea,
Then looked to sky in hopes divine,
With sad eyes casting prayer to Thee.
He gave his lot to thoughts sublime
Of steely days when he was young,
As whimsy drifted back in time
To slackened bitter aching tongue.
Scant dory lurched to battle wrought,
The line burned deep into his flesh.
He smiled and mused, "Now who is caught?"
As man and fish began to thrash.