THE FISHERMEN OF CONWAY Here on the curlew calling Conway, Still water ripples to Will's prow, Coppered in the evening light. Weaving his fishing way from Conway up to Tal-y-Cafn. The skliff of the keel on stone Marks the fishermen's hope. An amber salmon leaps; Urgently the nets are cast Across the sunset river. Like flashing birds, the Tall One's hands skim fast Along the ropes, snaring The giant fish enmeshed. The Lame One deftly coils the net; While overhead the Shell Duck fly, Splashing orange, black, and white Against the darkening sky. The salmon fishing Singer Carves the prow; tensed, Scanning the flame red water. Another salmon breaks the surface Below the breast of Furnace Hill; The Singer shouts, and eagerly The boats move out. Long into the night, when moonlight dreams And curlews sing no song; The Tall One, The Lame One, The Singer, And Will, cast their nets While the salmon leap Marie Wooller