But I'll only give you four

Grown now I am, and days are spent of work and ways.

I remember fondly now of how my time once was spent.

Thursday meant I’d call in sick, and on bank, a rock, or dock I’d sit.

I’d cast a line time after time, when days grew hot in I wade.

Still casting, casting I cast my lines all day, cast until the sun would fade.

I wish I could say that’s still the case, but yet that was a better day.

Now my mind just swirls poems and songs of fights I pray to see.

If I could write my poems about the fight oh what I life it’d be.

To tell the tales I’ve spun on days a catching fish.

I’d write a poem about my fish if it’s something that you’d wish.

I’ll tell you what I’ll write you one, maybe a few more.

I got fishing tales I’ll take down for you, but I’ll only give you four.

A rainbow dances into my net.

Smoke creeps around rivers bend and hovers over waters head.

It lingers there till morning sun’s gaze its met.

I stroll over to the water’s edge the perfect fly I’ve tied for fed.

I stand knee deep in rubber pant, to keep my legs from wet.

Slowly down the river I crept, I cast a line time after time.

I cast by every step by step, till after sun makes water shine.

Little patience spent till, rod bowed over at the tug of line.

A fish a fish a fish I fight, oh the fight I live to fight.

As my quarry jumps and splashes just within my sight.

Slowly I win and pull her in with line kept slightly tight.

A fight of give and take, but if I’ll win, I’ll never fret.

Gamble shall I not, but to catch a fish I’d make the bet.

As a rainbow dances into my net.

The playground held a tiny stream.

The playground held a tiny stream.

A stream so full of childish dreams.

On her rocks I’d come to write.

From after school till dusk of night.

Writers block set in one day.

Upon her rocks I set astray.

Deep pockets found so often in a hidden space.

The next day I brought my fishing pole along to play.

Cast a line a couple time, something took my fishing fly.

After just a little fight I reel a bluegill in big enough for fry.

Then another and three more. Soon the rest of week I spent.

Catching fish and tying flies fishin from stream to stream.

Here my weekday summers spent, livin an angler’s dream.

I can’t believe it’s all because, the playground held a tiny stream.

A silver slab runs in morning light.

In my truck is where I sit, an ice-cold beer in lap to sip.

I take a drink and hit my bowl and wait for mornings glow.

Minnows swim a pale of foam, cause here big crappie come to roam.

When bright enough so I can see, I’ll rest my gear beneath that tree.

Three poles, my bag, and minnows are all I stock.

I toss a line an yet another, floating minnows by the dock.

The third rod is the best that is as it’s rigged up with a jig.

I’ll spend my day sipping beer and catching fish, that’s a lifestyle I can dig.

Morning now is blue and bright, and the sun rises in the sky.

My float shoots under quick as lightnings strikes, set the hook I think I might.

With rod doubled over I now steadily fight, as a silver slab runs in morning light.

I knew you from your shadowed silhouette.

On a pontoon charter, out Apalachicola way.

The boat we loaded, and the captain paid.

Baited hooks with shrimp we caught whitefish all day.

As the sun grew hot the captain cast a special rod into a deep part of the bay.

Long and patient did he wait, till the bell ding just once for quite a while.

Then it rang and rang so he jerked it up and set the hook and hand me it with a smile.

It was heavy and put up quite a fight what will it be, can’t wait to see meanwhile my thoughts compile.

I fought it till my young arms ache, I know it’s huge, I bet.

As you broke light enough to see, I knew you from your shadowed silhouette.

A shark a shark a shark I screamed and reeled you in without regret.

As I prepare to lay my head to bed, I’ll share with you my master plan.

There I’ve taken down a story few.

I took them down and just for you.

But hang on tight the stories not quite through.

Fishing is my true life’s passion, and I hope you love it too.

I’ve spun my web of fishing tales from line to net for you.

Now memories of good days a spent now flutter through my head.

Wet of wade, of rain, and sweat. With stink of fish and worm guts on my hand.

As I prepare to lay my head to bed, I’ll share with you my master plan.

I said it at the start, some poems I’d pour, but I’ll only give you four.

Since you kept your word and read it through, I gave you two more!!!