Angling’s great from motor boats
But bank fishing is
Better

Dad parks near the road
Then we walk woodland trails
Together

Treading our way overland
With morning mist slowly
Rising

Ghost-like in grassy meadows
Where shallow streams flow
Freely

We slip past placid coves
Where wily bass lurk in
Shadows

Carefully making our way
Until we hear the
Whisper

Sit your weary bones down here
And wait ever so
Quietly

While motor boats on the lake
Chase the fish
to you