PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I'm twelve years old agin,

It's summer an' I'm goin' fishin';

The sky's so light blue

I c'n almost see through it

Inta the other world;

No clouds're showin',

An' ther's nary a breeze

Ta stir so much as

Aleaf or blade o" grass;

The only movin' thing is me.



I'm twelve years old agin,

It's summer an' I'm goin' fishin';

I see shimmerin' waves o' heat

Reflectin' non-existent puddles

On the dustycountry path

That leads ta the fishin' hole,

Puddles that disappear

As my sockless, shoeless feet

Reach them only ta kick up

Tiny clouds o' tan dust.



I'm twelve years old again,

It's summer, and I'm going fishing;

The fishing hole is shaded by

White birch, pine and old hickory trees

That cast dappled reflections into

The moss-green, reed-filled water;

I stick a blade of grass between my teeth

And drop my line into the water

Without a wiggly, chocolate-brown worm;

I don't want to fish, I want to laze.



The picture fades, and I'm grown again,

My world is tight with pressure and care;

But when the race gets too fast for me,

I close my eyes, and I am there,

Just for a minute...or maybe, two,

I see the heat and smell the air,

I clear the pressure from my mind,

And I think back on that condition,

When I was only twelve years old,

And it ;was summer, and I went fishin'.