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And here is a poem spoken in the voice of Peter, the fisherman who followed Christ:

We had toiled till daybreak and caught nothing,

trawling mercury stains on the glass lake,

but finding them fishless.  He stood watching

us: fishers of men, breathless, scarce awake,

with calloused hands.  Though His breath caused the world

to emerge, He gave us no assistance.

Perhaps the sight of our washed nets unfurled-

co-operation and sheer persistence-

showed Him fallen men performed some tasks well.

When we’d exhausted our efforts, He said:

Try the other side of the boat.  I tell

you, prophesy that a multitude fed

on two fish is nothing to me.  Vast draughts,

miraculous ingatherings await

you.

Much later, on the shore, we spied a waft

of smoke and smelt some broiling fish.  He cooked

our breakfast.  We marvelled and ate.

He joined us: a fish out of water; looked

the same, drawing His symbol on the sand.

I dredged my mind to find inspiration

to write about Him, but was barren and

no silver flickerings of creation

took my bait.  Then he blew on smoking coals,

which I kissed.  Their heat took me to my cross,

but not before I’d netted many shoals

of men, small fry and large, for His great cause.

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