A TRUE ANGLER'S SON

To all who love to fish

Well,he's gone fishing.
Oh, the sight of the sun,
rays through trees glistening.
It is a fall morning run.

A silver frost,sharp is the air.
like diamonds and ice,
In nature's coloured hair.
Fall's array crisp as spice.

Mother nature's beauty in the Lake.
Reflects a scene from Paradise.
A parade of colours for Heaven's sake.
A gifted artist's winning prize.

He takes his time, enjoys the peace.
Lights his pipe, his draw is deep.
Content in God's masterpiece.
Wishing forever this moment to keep.

Light blue smoke swirls around his head,
The smell of Captain Black in the air.
At shoreline with waters read,
He's sure he's found the lunkers lair.

With favorite rod and handtied fly,
with flowing cast he hits the spot.
He knows this monster's super sly,
this fish had no plans for the pot.

Down swirling eddy the fly floats along.
Glowing in the morning's dawn.
Basking,content,He hums a song.
His souls at rest.He gives a yawn.

Suddenly,a savage tug!
The water explodes,a fish is on!
The hooks is set,the line is snug.
His jaw is firm,a true angler's son.

He know's he can't lose all his line.
The fish is strong the run is long.
He works it back,He thinks "it's mine".
The fish runs again,ah no victory song!

The fish pulls him deeper,his line is gone.
Icy water up to his waist,one last chance.
The fish has turned,He's in the zone.
He regains his line it's almost done.

He brings this warrior to his side.
The battles over his strength is spent.
The fish is huge he's full of pride.
This awsome experience is Heaven sent.

The moment's savoured,His soul content.
With gentle hands the fish retrieved.
With care and caution the hook is bent.
Released unharmed a prince reprieved.

Cold and wet he stands in awe,
reliving each moment of the fish's run.
He heads back to the camp to try to thaw.
He knows in his heart he's a true angler's son.


by Luke