Morning on the Lake

A thousand ghostly serpents stretch
pale heads above the lake,
warning the rising white wavering
Sun.

Fearless a grey shell among them slips.
Shadowed pilot lets oars drift
launches a silent line;
a soft plop; the figure waits
in vain.

A starling squawks, the only sound
to pierce the peaceful air.
The figure lifts his arm once more
another plop, and rippling rings
expand.

Then a splash, the rod bends down
the snake heads veer away
as water churns and figure turns
a crank.
Net dips down,
brings silvery prize
aboard.

The figure bends to take the oars
and glides ahead once more.
And stops.
And waits.
And baits the hook
while silence reigns
again.

(This is a poem I started on 10July2007, and finished revising on 12July2007)