Two Fishermen

There are men who stand on the moss grown bank,

     Or wade to their hips in the stream

With a long cane pole near pickerel hole,

     And then like a thing of steam,

Throw here and there with a spiteful swirl

     Slashing the surface all o’er,

And, feeling a bite, with all of their might,

     Throw the pickerel high on the shore.

And then there are men who will steal along,

     Like a panther upon its prey,

And drop a line with a skill most fine

     And gather their fish that way.

Now which one is right and which is wrong?

     Or have we the right to say,

For both of them catch a fairly good batch,

     While fishing a different way.

Nov. 8, ‘99