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Fishing Hopes

Fishing Hopes
 These boys that fishermen would be,
As they bait a hook upon bended knee.
And the final toss as line is dangled,
Followed by a shout “Our lines are tangled!”
Spots are crowded and the worms are spilled.
The things caught are not ones that are gilled.
They snag a limb, or fish get the bait.
With patience unknown before, they wait.
Heard over and over “Can’t catch a thing!”
And maybe one will boast a sting.
Long hours are spent slapping pests in the heat.
Not a catch all day; they’re tired and beat.
“Maybe next time”, and they smile with hope,
As homeward bound they climb the slope.
And they chatter of perfect spots they sought
And how big were the ones they nearly caught!

New Hopes
Fishers of men these boys would be,
As they read “the Book”  on bended knee.
The final toss as “truth” is dangled,
Following the shout “Our lives are tangled!”
Crowds come and worms are spilled.
Men are sought and hearts are filled.
Words fly away, or are crushed with hate.
With patience unknown before, they wait.
“Can’t touch a heart!”, heard again and again,
“They do not hear, or turn from sin!”
Long hours are spent fighting Satan in the heat.
So few responses, but never defeat!
But maybe soon, and they smile with hope,
As homeward bound they climb the slope.
And they chatter of the souls they sought
And weep over the ones that were nearly caught!