Fishing When Younger Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Legs straddling the trunk of a tree hanging out over the
water, my son sits with fishing pole in hand, enjoying
his little adventure.

In the fantasy of his imagination he is having a great
time waiting for the big one to tug as his line, grabbing
his bait.

Tired of waiting he puts down his pole and starts climbing
higher and farther out over the water.

Getting to a branch he wants to sit on, looking across at
me, as I say go ahead.

Scared to death of falling, but wanting to reach his goal,
he gathers up his courage like cake batter from a bowl.

Gaining the confidence that is needed, turning around on
the thin trunk, sitting all proud upon another branch.

Just sitting there for a minute, then down again, because
his big brother has caught a fish on the other side and
now he will try his luck again.

Until that is, he gets tired, then he'll be off again on
another adventure in imagination.