(5.00 / 1 vote) “
I was a good kid, my mother said, take him fishing.
You know that's what he has been wishing.
"Ok! Ok! Were off to fish today."
My Dad taught me lessons #1 to 8. Let me translate.
We caught a bunch of trout and had them for supper.
Was that super. He said lesson # 9 is to dispose of
the bones in the fire or wild animals we would aquire.
I had special plans for my bones. I would put them
under my cot, but I soon forgot, until late that night,
when there was a fight. Three or four skunks were
eating my bones. They weren't all friends I could
tell by there tones. Their tails were sticking up at
the edge of my bed. This idea went though my head.
So I snuck out my hand and grabbed a tail with a jerk.
I was right they all went bezerk. You would've thought
that was a mistake, but it was not. No stink was shot.
And fishing lesson #9 I never forgot.
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"Fishing Lesson # 9" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 21 Oct. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/71326/fishing-lesson-#-9>.