The Lobster Fisherman's Son

He burrows his tiny feet
Into the sea-washed stones.
He shivers in the foggy mist
That embraces his golden curls.

Twilight settles into darkness
And Daddy is a little late.
But he doesn't mind:
He's learned from waiting many times —
Daddy is a lobster fisher and must rely
on the ebb and flow of tides.

Footsteps echo in the hazy dampness.
A small warm hand
Twice the size of his
Gives comfort as they watch together
For the telltale light
Tracking its way to shore.

A dim white light soon emerges
Getting brighter every moment.
"There he is!"
A sigh is whispered above his head.

The boat take shape
The motor rumbles
As it slips into the sheltered harbor.
Daddy's home again.