Dinner for one
*Dinner for one*
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The mountains loom with soaring strength,
surrounding the lagoon and its twinkling presence,
and somewhere in between, sits a quiet hut,
well maintained, the garden cut.
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A man comes out, yawns and stretches,
a smile gleaming across his face
equipment in bag, rod and bait,
he pulls it up and heads off straight.
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Straight to the small overhang, next to his hut
blooming with flowers and shining bright.
On there a camper chair, folded up
and a table he uses for his cup.
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He folds it out, the same routine,
and prepares himself for his usual day,
of catching fish and taking the meat
back to his hut so he can eat.
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The line is tossed, the wait begins,
sat in this grand mountain range,
is a man, fishing, as he always will,
for food to put back on his grill.
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The water shimmers, it’s ambience pure
the sunlight radiates energy across
the natural fields of rich green
the greatest the man has ever seen.
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And he waits for hours, to catch some food,
the sun has set, the crickets chirp.
Two small Salmon, caught and hooked,
a modest dinner ready to be cooked.
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But the man doesn’t care, his routine is done,
his land is boundless but his house so small,
as he takes his gear back to his place,
hangs it up, and grabs a plate.
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Dinner for one, dinner for one.
Yet it still feels like dinner for all
the outside darkens all the same
and nature sings outside the frame.
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