To the Fishing Rod

O, slender rod, to thee I sing!

     Thou whip of peace and strife;

Thou’rt idle now, but soon I trow

     Thou’lt be a thing of life.

I have three varnished new and bright,

     Rewound and tested too;

When comes the call of waterfall

     Will bid the town adieu.

Thy reel is nicely cleaned and oiled,

     And sings a charming lay;

Lines old and new are tested too,

     And ready for the fray.

O, rod so sleek accept these weak

     And homely lines of song!

O, rod suppose the distance grows,

     It will not be fur-long.

March 15, ‘10