A fishing poem

 I had written this poem last season and posted on another site, but figured wed give her a go here! Enjoy!

                             I’m up before dawn, putting my fishing hat on

                            Grabbing my gear, it’s that time of year.

                            Make some P.B.J’s and grab a coffee to go.

                            I sure hope the river is at a good flow.

                            It’s a one hour drive to this place that I know

                            I’d better be careful and drive nice and slow

                            I look left and I look right

                            I see blackness in my sight

                            It is a moose as big as can be

                            Running down the road just in front of me.

                            The sun is up and the fog is thick

                            Damn! I forgot my wading stick.

                            As I near the river I pick up speed

                            I can hardly suppress my angling need

                            The river is near as I can hear its roar

                            Looks like the path has grown in some more.

                            Into my waders and on with the vest

                            Pondering what fly will work best

                            I’m on the river and the water looks good

                            Hoping the fish will bite like I think they should.

                            I string my rod and watch for a hatch

                            Would like to see a cloud or just a batch

                            Be it Caddis, Stone or May

                            They all make the trout come out and play

                            I tie on my fly and put on its dress

                            Within four casts I have a big snarling mess

                            So I tie on another that looks like its twin

                            By the look of this fly I’m not sure where it’s been

                             I see a rise and pattern the take

                            Would like to place the fly up in front of the wake

                                 I false cast once and let her go

                                 As my line fly’s freely up into the flow

                                 My fly lands soft and ripple free

                                 If it brings a rise we shall surely see

                                 My fly drifts down and follows the seam

                                 Then a huge boil just like in a dream

                                 I feel the tug and scream of the reel

                                 Not sure how much line he will peel

                                 He makes a run and I gain some ground

                                 It seems like this goes on round and round

                                 The pulling is less and I’m thinking he’s done

                                 That’s when he went for just one more run

                                 He is spent now and the net is near

                                 My fly breaking off is my only fear

                                 A big old bookie bright as can be

                                 Lying in the net looking unhappy with me

                                 I pull the barb less fly from his lip

                                 Then release him from the net with a simple flip

                                 He turns and glances as he swims away

                                 Wishing we had met in some other way

                                  The moral of this poem is to let them go

                                  The great feeling it gives you is more than you know                           

                                  I’ve hooked some fish it’s been a good day

                                  I think I’ll sit on the bank and enjoy my P.B & J