Walking down the country road,
The middle overgrown with Johnson grass.
To the canal bank, with the singing toads,
And the greenish water so like glass.
A sprig of grass, between my lips,
A folgers can brimming with worms.
My fishing pole firmly in my grip,
And for the carp, bran flakes and corn.
Barefoot and shirtless, in the summer sun,
A battered straw hat on my head,
Gonna sleep on the bank till the day is done,
Be better sleep, than in my bed.
Don't care if the fishing is bad or good,
I just want to be alone.
Don't care for people stuffy and rude,
Be quite a while till I Head for home.
3/27/13 Alton Texas
Sounds wonderful Juan - I think you mean battered straw hat on my head unless you're turning into a scarecrow! Hahahaha. Great poem though.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Once again, you are singing the song of my soul! Your writing always enlightens my spirit, for that many thanks. Such heart in these words, I do love it.