A history of fishing

I came across your old fishing reel
Monofilament glistening and intact
Well oiled and ready to cast.

I remember when the reel was brand new
All shiny and sleek, in silver and black
Like that Salmon you almost caught.

I remember the shock we felt, seeing
A flash of light in the peaty water, a shout
And just as soon as it was on, it was off.

That old reel, now battered and worn
Hasn't been used for quite some time
Nor has that bike you used to ride.

I remember football on a Saturday afternoon
Barbecues and lots of friends
All dancing until the light of dawn.

That old grey suit with it's rebellious brush
Is nothing but threads now, just lines
Of memories, almost lost in the dust.

I remember that book you started to write
Whatever happened to that? the stamps you had
And the maps you made.

One by one they just drop away
Now the clock makes too much noise
All those things just drop away.

Until there's nothing left
But there's always something left
Always something else to do.

Now you’re in a different room
That coffin bed is destined for 
Someone else, but we will 
Remember you

‘The Internationale’
Will do.