The fishing fellow

Hey long, lean, lanky fishing fellow as you stand in a serenity of a motionless mellow yellow
You almost had me fooled coz I thought you were a statue amidst the shininess of the sun’s rays on the water weir’s hue

But I saw a slow switch of your stick-like skinny legs as you were balanced on one webbed foot drinking shallow streamlet dregs and I think you were startled by the swooping splash of a Coot as it dangerously disturbed a Whooper Swan that howled a hoot

You may not be the most colourful of our river creatures but those fragile thread-like legs of yours are such unusual features
They look as if they would easily snap from your ungainly landing in a frenzied flap
Then you shove your stream-like neck forwards and you take off in a little run flying like a duck to water if you will pardon my pun