A Hint O’ Spring

In the spring a young man’s fancy, and the older man’s as well,

Turns to where the little brooklet gurgles down the drowsy dell,

Where the splashing falls surrender to the ever waiting pool,

And the golden trout are darting up the rapids swift and cool.

He can hear the purling waters as they lash the mossy stones,

And they thrill his pent-up spirit with their glad, inviting tones;

He can see the sweeping meadows and the woodland bare and brown,

He can wish that he were thither, but he has to stay in town.

In the spring a young man’s fancy turns upon his rod and reel,

And he fishes out his leaders and his lines and flies and creel.

Then he varnishes his lancewood, and each joint he vaselines

While he tests his lines and leaders for the coming battle scenes.

Everything is oiled and polished and all ready for the fray

Then he finds the “boss” won’t let him off for even half a day;

And his dreams have all been shattered and his spirit are cast down.

He would like to whip those waters, but he has to stay in town.

Feb. 9, ‘09