The Fisherman

Casting his rod with bait on the hook
He sits on the riverside in a shadey nook
Turning the pages of his cowboy book
As he feels a yank so he glances a look

His narrow rod is tugging with all it’s might
Bobbing up and down in a frenzied plight
This fish must be huge giving such a fight
Alas it’s just an old welly boot what a disappointing sight

The fisherman sits in his solitary mood
He has the patience of a saint so that is good
But he doesn’t starve as he takes his food
And if it rains well he wears his hood