The Fisherman's Wife
Said she, I don't know what to say,
scarcely what to think sometimes.
All the while mending fish anyway.
And meanwhile the quiet folks
surrounded her intent, silently.
Who listened to the fisherman's stew?
One hand in hand upon the beach,
I thought I heard her say whispering,
yet caught my interest anyway.
Ladled skies waited their turn
just when the bowl was about to speak.
Lightning is what I do to my hair, said she.
I wonder what she meant?
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