Fisherman’s Prayer

When you call me home, let it be, dear God,

From a stream I wade with my casting rod:

Between my teeth my old briar pipe:

Let salmon berries, topas ripe,

Hang thick on the bushes: let winds blow

From canyons where Alpine Lillies grow

And thrushes sing in the twilit hush:

Let a buck deer crash through the underbrush:

And, God, were You granting one more

 wish,

When you call  me home, let it be when a

 fish

Strikes my fly and I’m reeling out

From a riffled pool, a twelve-inch trout.

~ Ethel Romig Fuller (1883-1965) ~  

“Cast all your cares upon Him, for He cares for you” -1Peter 5:7