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Gone Fishin Early morning, my mind sill numb, The job has left me over-run. Not much more of this I�ll take! So I grab my pole,head for the lake. Still on my mind, it weighs me down. I see how things get turned around. Soon, at the boat tied to the pier. I can�t believe it�s been a year. The motor wanes and groans awhile. Remembering brings to me a smile Of simpler times, my son and I, Began to fish when he was five. Out to the spot where Northerns run, Ripples glistening in the morning sun. Motor now off and anchored fast, I pray this solitude will last. With tired hands, bifocal glass, Line through a tiny hole shall pass, An artful skill passed on to me, With readied hook, my father now see. Bait soon on and reel set. Precision cast, the spot to get Between the Lilly-pad and log I'm settled in amidst the fog. The sky gives up its morning moon. I catch a glimpse of passing loons. A jerk! Then life comes to the line. The fight that�s underway is mine! Netted, calm and safe within. Whith hook released, I gaze at him. No finer catch, a man could know! Then with one deep breath, I let him go. Douglas Fletcher 3/16/2001 |
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