First things first for my friend Ben

The moon is shining on the lake
where trout are rising after flies
this tells me that it’s time to fish.

The gentle art of casting flies
correctly as my father taught,
has filled full many a supper dish

A trout that’s fried in bacon grease
Has a unique taste all its own,
If I were hungry I would wish.

For a fresh trout upon my plate
A feast I would appreciate.
But first you have to catch your fish.

28-May-07

poem by Ivor .e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!