“On a dark quiet night,

Where the river runs wide,

In his boat sat,

The night fisherman;

Around him the water lay

Heavy, and limpid like clay;

Not a sound, not even a ripple,

The river banks no longer visible;

Still as death he sat,

Yet grew his catch;

For on a night like this,

Many a soul drifts,

Where the Night Fisherman sits

And the River runs still and deep” 


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