Years ago when I was small
Still small now – that’ nothing new
The river would be my port of call
Where I would admire the view
I had everything under control
And had devised a cunning plan.
Out came my bamboo pole
And my tiny baked bean can.

You see I always had a wish
As I sat there with a flask of tea
That  I could catch some fish
From a boat on the sea.

But as I sit by the  brook
My skin shivers and I sqiirm
As I attach to a battered hook to
Half of a chopped up worm.