As softly as the lifting of the morning mist

The line lay down on the mountain stream

It floated like the quiet peace of old age

And the angler knew he had lived his dream

Although the clouds of death hung closer now

There were no regrets for what might have been

For he had crossed life’s darkest flows

And found firm footing for the soul within

Easy winds of time rustled leaves of memory

Back to other bright windless cold-water days

When the angler and the river were wilder

And flies were tied without vision’s haze

The cascading sunlit depths of time

Had given him these days a’stream

To stand against life’s uncertain tide

And cast his hopes to a distant dream

But today he saw the Coachman drifting free

On a current made of glass

And he somehow knew the fish was there

To accept the offered pass

He saw the take and knew again the thrill of life

So often felt in days gone by

As the trout ran deep like time itself

Which take us all to the day we die

The old rod bent with seasoned strength

Lending dignity to defeat

As the net of grace dipped low to hold

The joy of a life complete

And while the trout found tranquil rest

Because of sweet release

The old man smiled to go from here

To the promised timeless peace