Surrounded in a salty scent
A serene smell
It provokes passion, pride
In the heart of those born on the sea

Young curious eyes
Innocent, yellow
They're fixed
Learning all the tricks of the trade
As his dark hands repeat an all too familiar task
Tying knots untie-able to the pesky sea

A wrinkled smile at me
A caricature of sun
Dimming flames within those yellow lanterns
Those golden orbs almost match my own

However his hold wisdom
The sort of knowledge only age can bring

We begin to take our leave
The sun's own weary eyes transforming
Into an array of pink, orange and indigo
Sinking slowly to the sea
Off to call it another day
Leaving the hours that remain to the moon

A rough fisherman hand grips our pale
Fish we picked together
Fruit of the sea

There is a sense of pride
Watching this once handsome man
Strong despite old age nipping at his ankles

I know, I know
There are many men who fish
But there is no doubt in my youthful mind
He is the best
Because he's my grandpa