Angling Again

By the brook with a hook

     Sat my love and I;

And we wished,

And we fished,

     While the clouds rolled by.

We fished on, but by swon,

Not a bite had we;

Then she sighed,

And she tried

     To look square at me.

“Angling is a weary bis,

     On shore or in river –”

Then I bit –

She yanked it –

     And I was hooked forever.

March 25, ‘91

Pub. in Cam. Press