The Silver Gleam Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A sudden tug, the drag starts singing,
No office phone, but victory ringing.
The rod bends low against the rush,
Amidst the pines and morning hush.

It dives down deep, it
fights the line,
A flash of silver, bold and fine.
With steady hands and patient grace,
I guide it to the netting space.

A wild brook trout, a prize
to hold,
With spots of crimson, fins of gold.
A breathless moment, quick and bright,
Before it slips back out of sight.

The water roars, the sun sinks low,
The finest catch the day could show.
Not just the fish within the stream,
But living out the weekly dream.