Ode fishing

author - Анатолий Маркендудис

Dawn...touched a ray of the first, the sky.
Care stems reed gently breeze.
It is worth well that there is no, for the fisherman good weather,
And wants the fish is...I climb onto the ledge.

There in the dusty gave inaccessible to the wife of the cave,
Are the treasures of any man.
And does not matter that the winter hooks подзатупели,
Come their time, the backpack on his back, all...it's time.

Faster from Smokey of the jungle, on the work of thoughts.
Whining children, nagging wife.
There...to the river, while others do not have time,
And how do you think? A little bit all egoists fishermen.

Well, that's all that got to.
Until someone is busy with children, dear ples.
Прикормку quickly in the water, here's the worms, that's gear,
The branches for bed, all spread out, and the rest, not a question.

Slung, sat down with the head of all thoughts.
Leave behind the earthly vanity.
Lies in front of me...the river, as a babe in bed,
Beautiful, so mysterious covering her nakedness.

The murmur of water, on a small перекате,
The ripples of the river, from the small breeze.
And the air then what! Me on word around.
What is needed for the soul? The process is important here-the fish is not particularly necessary.

Here, finally! Nod slightly arched.
Again let go, no, began to tremble again,
Well, inside-the whole world turned upside down.
As if on the end of the UDA, on a leash of the whale, at least kept.

And let the people anecdote walks, about the fool and other червячке.
But, I can't say devoted to the mind.
The days of you on a fishing trip,
The Lord add, to life-the fisherman.