Fishing is a popular sport;
At one with nature is the report;
Most beautiful, in my eyes;
The form which casts dry flies;
Casting the fly is truly an art;
For the fly weighs much less than a dart;
Ten o'clock-one o'clock, power, power;
Over extend and it all goes sour;
Truly finesse, rhythm and grace;
Greenhorns, wear a hat to protect your face;
Pick-ups and presentations no longer part the brook;
It's time to try the hook;
The experts all agree;
You're only fishing when the fly floats drag free;
< Backcast, forecast, fly on the water;
What's the matter, it's swimming like an otter;
Oh I know, it's the wrong leader;
Much better now, just hooked a large Cedar;
Match the hatch, fish the clock, strike with might;
Oh god, my first bite;
Truly this is the Holy Water;
Darkness falls, the hatch is on, fish rising;
That I catch one is not surprising;
What a moment pure and clear;
How I've waited for many a year;
With years of practice my skill grows;
As I watch others in the early throes;
Novices, I've been watching you;
Though usually silent, here's a tip true;
Fish the hole before wading through;
Roll pick-ups, horizontal casts low in the sky;
Overheard, Butch to Sundance, "Who is that guy ?";
Those days all but gone;
Tendinitis has left me wan;
I remember a father, son and old rented boat;
Trolling flies on lines that did not float;
I'm not sure what Lefty, Gary, or Rusty would say;
But we caught several nice Rainbows that day.