I
sat in my office easy chair
As the sun was sinking low;
I
had not a single thing to do,
And nary a place to go.
Why
not go fishing I asked myself,
So I put on my angling togs,
And
soon I was out of the city’s grip,
Out wading the marshland bogs.
An
electric rolled past – ‘twas the brook I heard,
As it gurgled o’er logs and stones;
The
phone clattered long – ‘twas only my reel
Singing out its wonderful tones.
The
snow slid off from a neighboring roof,
‘Twas simply the splash of a trout;
And
my creel grew full and my heart grew light
And the sun it went down and out.
Thank
God for the dreams that come by day,
The same for the dreams by night,
That
carry us out to the game-land home,
Where the finny’s are fierce to bite.
It’s
a joy to go on a fishing trip
And cling to your office seat;
While
snow and rain blur the window pane,
And the price – well it can’t be beat.
Dec.
31, ‘06
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