Fisherman’s Ashes

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Bear my ashes when I die

Far from men and let them lie,

By a salmon river.

Where the larches troop their ranks

And about the river banks

Silver Birches shiver.


Stay not stranger, passing by

For decorous lament or sigh

Where I rest beside you.

Go my brother, cast your line,

With a craft that once was mine

And good luck be tide you.


Here, who knows, I still may ply

O’er the stream a phantom fly

For a midnight capture.

And if Heaven attend my wish

Bring to bank a ghostly fish

In a ghostly rapture.


Author unknown

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