Fly Fishin' Poem by Philip Lore

What joy I feel casting a long fly line,
To hook a trout, the very first time.
Cold, running water, hitting my chest,
Waders keep me warm,
A dazzling sun does the rest.

Trying not to slip on the moss covered stone,
Relaxed and peaceful, all alone.
Watching my fly go out, feeding out my reel,
In a babbling stream, conditions ideal.

Chirping yellow birds, high up in the trees,
Sweet smell of pine, gently arrives in the breeze.
Bull frogs calling on the banks of the stream,
What a gorgeous day, such a peaceful scene.

I wish to be wading back in those streams,
Tonite...I'll be there...
If only in my dreams.