Baited Breath Poem by David Taylor

The river bank stood still
as it watched the water churn and swell.
The fisherman with rod and line
standing firm, watching for a sign;
which fish will bite the bait
and find a camp fire end,
instead of swimming past the bend.
And from a worms eye view
it did not matter which fish he drew
from the river passing through.

The river bank had seen it all,
winter spring summer fall,
fishes caught both large and small.
And home to many worms,
that wormed and churned without concern.
The fisherman with rod and line
was surprised to find the bear behind.