There it is in the grass; Winter and summer As if it will last. It will decay as time goes by. It was left there. We may ask ..."Why?" Alongside the water where boats come and go. This one rots even if it is slow. The years come and go, the seasons too. Tall grows the grass leaving it all askew. Hands that built this little skiff no longer work; as if gone adrift. It lies there now; Just left alone. The fisher who loved it has long gone home.   Submitted By: Berdina Ford