To the Waltonian Bards
(Aroused by the fact that fourteen of our exchanges this morning contain “Fishin’” poems.)
Poets that prate of the worry of working
During the days of a sultry July,
Prate of the pleasure undoubtedly lurking,
Lurking, we say, in the rod and the fly—
During the days of a sultry July,
Prate of the pleasure undoubtedly lurking,
Lurking, we say, in the rod and the fly—
Bards who descant on the wonders of fishing,
Angling for pickerel, “muskie” and trout,
Voicing that awful, inevitable “wishing”—
Can it, forget it, let go, cut it out.
Angling for pickerel, “muskie” and trout,
Voicing that awful, inevitable “wishing”—
Can it, forget it, let go, cut it out.
Joys piscatorial may be delightful,
Singing them, though, is a bit of a pest;
Ours not the wish to be acid or spiteful,
But, brother bards, won’t you give us a rest?
Singing them, though, is a bit of a pest;
Ours not the wish to be acid or spiteful,
But, brother bards, won’t you give us a rest?
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