Briefly, newspapers recite
The facts about the fisherman
Who for two months, day and night,
Went out fishing for his son,
His only child, aged 23,
Who in a winter squall was drowned—
Washed overboard and out to sea—
And whose body was not found
Till the hour his father’s net,
Heavy with what he could not keep
And could not throw back or forget,
Heaved up streaming from the deep—
Indentified only by the cross,
Gold, incorruptible and pure,
Chained about the neck of loss
And glinting like a fishing lure.
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