When I think back to times of my youth Wonderful memories I have from days of yore When we would put aside every chore And take off to the creek With a cane fishing pole To find the perfect spot in a deep hole Where the catfish liked to hide. We'd put on a wriggling redworm as bait And sink the line in the water and wait While lying on the creek bank For the float to sink And snatch the hook up quick as a wink To see what we had caught. Now, a fisher I certainly ain't For usually I either yanked too quick And saw my bait still on the hook Or waited too late And gone was my bait With nary a fish to show. Then, down the pole was thrown And into the creek I would wade Trying to catch in my hands The minnows swimming by But little success did I have Hard as I would try Because the minnows are slippery little creatures Teaming every where Darting here and there. All was not in vain 'Cause I enjoyed wading in water nice and cold And farther would I wade Finding wonderful shade Of the weeping willow growing on the bank Where I would climb up and rest a while With n'er a thought That no fish had I caught But enjoyed the freedom I felt On a wonderful summer day As I whiled the time away. Momma, on the other hand, Was skilled at fishing with a cane pole And often we were told To "Go on now. Don't muddy the water and splash around For then no fish will be found 'Cause you will scare them away And we will go hungry this day. Let me fish here alone For I just know I will catch enough fish To make a good supper And that you know is my wish." Nobody fishes with a cane any more Nor strings their catch on a forked limb Like in days of yore But prefer a rod and reel And a special lure To go fishing in a stream Where the water rushes by Catching the fish on the fly Wearing rubber wading boots and a hat to shade their face And a wicker basket in which their fish to place. Carry me back to that time in the past When fishing with Momma I would go And in the summer sun I would bask While she fished to her heart's content In the gently flowing creek Running through the bottom land And Momma would have the time of her life Enjoying a sunny day peaceful and free from strife Catching enough catfish to skin and fry And we would sit around the homemade table Spread with a pretty oilcloth Enjoying a sumptuous meal straight from Mommas hand... Momma, all the younguns and Daddy, Momma's man, Thinking life was grand. ©Jane Ward Smith June 17, 2008 Used With Permission All Rights Reserved By Author Mail


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