I met Jesus, and he gave me a fish,
We walked together as I ate it.
When I was full, of the wondrous fish,
I asked him how he baited it.
He replied to me only,
With these few words,
And left me uncomprehending.
He said, “As all good fishermen know,
Some of the best bait, is just Waiting.”
So many years later, I met him again,
And he offered me, like last, the same.
And once I was full of the blessing,
I asked him what was his gain?
For surely a man who gives all his fish,
Will certainly grow hungry and die,
Surely, they will grow cold and thin and
utterly utterly cry.
He replied, “Men die with fish in their baskets,
It is no deterrer of death.
Men die in over-filled
Markets, they die in exquisite beds.”
I went on my way, but saw him again,
A moment before my body expired,
He offered me another fish,
But I longed for something much higher.
The breath was gone, the desire lost,
I believed myself cast to the flame,
But back I sprung! A resurrected feat!
I would not return in dull vain.
Sitting at my miracle bed, he offered me another fish.
Sitting in my amazement; the meat was not my wish.
By the time my relatives came, all to be astounded,
The Lord had left my bedside, my heart was heavy and confounded.
I traced him out and found him, and presented him with three fish,
Asking please for explanation, of how my life could come to this.
He smiled so gently kindly, and bayed me give them freely,
To any passing pilgrim, to any who should be needy.
I pressed him still, My Lord! My Lord!
Tell me what life is for.
He handed me another fish,
And smiling said no more.
