Feed a man a fish and he eats one lunch
Teach someone to read and watch them Hunt
Feeling past the future for fishing fields alive
Finding fowl, beef, vegetables, and chives.
Bread is stored grain grown inside minds oven
Heated paste cooked into food tastes like heaven
Words woven back and forth are formed within
A restaurant open at owners whim.
Plates of truth and mystery and joy
Love filling empty yearning holes
Faith and hope for tomorrow’s lunch
Life lived large with sip and munch.
Hold my book of poems between your arms
It’s full of word soup becoming warmed
Chasing fear and lonely cold far away
Comfy cozy snuggled into next day.
Fresh food awaiting hunger within or without
I hunt for banquets, not only for trout.