a poem about fishing, in the early morning

In the early morning, as the sun yawns and lets out her first light ray
two fishermen walk through the flooded bushes, searching for fish.
Inside cooler waters a silent lake says, " Take your time, take your time"
The sun slow at it's highest point drips with gold and continues to splay
while fish with their caudal fins and tails, kick forward into refreshing waters,
enjoying cool oxygen moments of grace, before the water gets too hot.
"Take your time, take your time" says the dawn
pink and purple, saffron yellow, with a touch of golden mellow.
Two buddies side by side, just like Abbott and Costello
catching fish and then releasing, into the undulated waves.
The sound of a female duck quacking in the distance,
followed by six mallard duckling babies, dark chocolate brown
with fuzzy yellow tails, wagging happily;
They appear to be saying, " take your time, take your time"
In the noon day sun an open tackle box and an empty thermos.
A passerby says " caught any fish yet?"
the fisherman smiles, not yet, they are just taking their time.