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Dad would say,me and you go fishing

and thump me on the head.

I'd run and get our fishing tackle

from the ol woodshed.



Just two cane poles

about 12 feet long

An old coffee can for worms

we'd find as we walked along.



Across a new plowed field

to a pond we both knew.

A bare foot boy,

And a big man in work shoes.



As we would get to the pond,

i'd come to a stop.

And wait on Dad

for He would know the right spot.



We would bait up our hooks

throw out our lines.

Then sit on the ground,

side by side.



Never saying a word,

just watching our bobber.

A happy bare foot boy,

fishing with his Father.



When I got older

I left home to roam.

Not caring where I went,

not knowing where to go.



My Sister took my place,

she started fishing with Dad.

I was so screwed up in life,

Never realized what I had.



When I grew up

and decided to be a man.

It was way too late

to go back to the old times again.



Now I have to say

the memories i'm most fond.

Is sitting and fishing with Dad

on the bank of that pond.



January 25, 2007

Buren (withpen_inhand)