The Angler

A freckled-face kid with a pole and a line
     A rusted old hook and a whole lot a time
Early one morning, before it got hot
     Arose to go fishin' at his favorite spot.
Now to ketch him a fish, he first needed bait
     So he stopped to dig worms at the old garden gate.
Into an old can, half full of soil
     Went each wrigglin' find of this morning's toil
Ready and eager, he set off at a trot
     Soon to discover his pole was forgot!
So, back he did run, his old rod to fetch
     All the while dreamin' of the fish he'd soon ketch!
At last at the river, he wasted no time
     And set about castin' that rotten old line.
No sooner settled on the bank where he lay
     Than a tug on the line meant a fish there to play.
Now the boy pulled hard, but that fish, he did too
     And the contest grew fiercer, as such struggles do.
Soon, it was plain to the boy and he thought
     A fish that big sure ought to be caught!
Still, a strange mixture of sadness and pride
     Made the boy want to run off and hide.
So, when--with a snap!--that old line did part
     A new kind of feeling warmed the lad's heart.
He turned from the river and with a wide grin
     Whispered softly,  "goodbye", to his slippery old
     friend