By Charles M. Sumid
Copyright 2025

The boat drifts out
On blackened lake.
Stars pierce the clouds—
The fish awake.

My father casts.
The line goes tight.
A splash, a pull—
We’ve lost the fight.

Again we try
With newer bait.
The water stirs—
We sit and wait.

The eastern sky
Turns pale at last.
We row toward shore,
The night has passed.