I
used to take a short cane pole
and
head out for the creek
where
tannin colored water ran
like
iced tea over white soft sand.
It
pooled in bends or near felled
trees
in deep black holes where
fishes
hid.
With
weight and hook
and
wiggling worm
I’d
drop my line and watch the
bobbing
bobber disappear
when
fish would bite
and
take their flight to
wrap
my line around some
hidden
snag.
Good to read you after a too long absence.
ReplyDeleteBrings back memories from my childhood here in rainy Hyde Cheshire .... lovely poem my friend.
ReplyDeleteThanks to Buffalo and Tom for leaving a comment when they came by. I appreciate all readers. Leave a comment if you are moved to do so.
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