If I could go back to a bygone time,
And sit down by the sea;
I'd talk to the same old fisherman,
Who used to talk to me.
I'd learn to throw a line again,
And nary a tangle make;
I'd learn to tell the name of the fish,
By its jump and by its wake.

But I can't go back to the former days,
As sweet as they may be;
The fish are gone, and the old man's dead,
And I'm caught near the end of me.
So, just sit here and rest a spell,
And let me spin a yarn;
Of fishes and hooks and babbling brooks,
And pikes as long as your arm.

For I'm full of precious memories,
That are trying to fly away;
And I keep them close and store them up,
To share with a friend some day.
But, I fear that life will slowly pass,
And Jesus will call me home;
Then who will tell my stories, dear,
And who will read this poem?

By Steve Van Nattan- May '04

© Copyrighted by Steve Van Nattan 2004

This poem was written by my dad in a moment of retrospection.


graphics and background by Mary Stephens
updated 2019