t’was the hour of rising,
              my wife in bed, the babe asleep
         and my work had begun before the light had slipped above the horizon.
                             my nets in hand, spear in another,
                      calloused as the bark that washed on the gravel
                           I settled myself into the rhythm of the day;

        but I was to be blessed that day, as was the wishes of the gods

                        the sandy bar of my home away from home
                   was occupied by an old man, sunk halfway into the edge of the river
                           harmless and quiet, he appeared no fiend
                     and as I neared, he beckoned me to him.

‘If ye should catch but one more fish than I,
                     I shall grant you the ability to never lose a catch.’

          and lo and behold, he revealed to me his true nature
                        the patron of my trade, a blessing to those who have good fortune
                   and so we sat, whiling the day away
                          what does one say to an immortal?
                                   prod fun all ye want, but we spoke about the weather
                             and the upcoming spring.

                   and when the sun began to sink
                            he counted his basket and I mine
                                    and I was half a head more than him
                              and smiled and blessed me, and wished me a fair evening

                  and to this day I have not seen him again,
                             but we have never gone hungry since.