A poem attributed to Fisher. "Down past the wind-groomed grassesIn the sultry curl of the streamThere was a pool set asideIn calm interlude away from the rushesWhere not even the reeds waverNature takes no time to harbour our needsFor depthless contemplationEvery shelter is a shallow thingThe sly sand grips hard no mannerOf anchor or even footfallPast the bend the currents run thin In wet chuckle where a faded tunicDrapes the shoulders of a broken branchThese are the dangers I might seeLeaning forward if the effort did not proveSo taxing but that ragged collarCovers no pale breast with tapping pulseThis shirt wears the river in birth foamAnd languid streaming tattersSoon I gave up the difficult restAnd floated down in search of bootsFilled with pebbles as every man needsSomewhere to stand.