Fish Gotta Swim, Birds Gotta Fly
 
The garden in the Fisherman’s Inn is made
a young new place by the summer evening.
Shoals of mackerel shift in the bay and above them
the gulls’ cries sing with the same melancholy
as the juke box and the blues singer’s love song.
These two, the boy and girl, feel a nervous wonder.
It is evening on an August day and the boats are at anchor.  


Robert Nisbet

If you have any comments on these poems, Robert Nisbet would be pleased to hear from you.