The Fisherman
The fisherman goes out at dawn
When every one’s abed,
And from the bottom of the sea
Draws up his daily bread.
His life is strange; half on the shore
And half upon the sea
Not quite a fish, and yet not quite
The same as you and me.
The fisherman has curious eyes;
They make you feel so queer,
As if they had seen many things
Of wonder and of fear.
He knows so much of boats and tides,
Of winds and clouds and sky !
But when I tell of city things,
He sniffs and shuts one eye !
Abbie Farwell Brown
