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Old Fisherman

Posted by bob on Oct 19, 2010in Reflections

Men like me, wrinkled and free

See life through the eye of the fly rod.

We cast a few, then spit and chew,

And cuss the one we blew.

We tire fast with each missed cast

Then seek the dryer ground.

We seek a path to park our ass

And share the gaffes that make us laugh

Alone no more, each takes the floor

The tales do make us roar

We liars all, don’t keep a score

And simply call for more.

Our noses grow, our stories too

Our life now laughs galore.

But there we sit and sip our brew

For that’s what lying fishermen do.

We take a breath and tie a fly

And grab the rod once more

Before we go we spit and chew

Then off we go for more.

Our boots now dry we’re set to try

Another cast or two

We pinch a plug and tuck it snug

The juice will work for sure

Then off we go to spit and chew

And cuss the one we blew.

It matters not if what we caught

Is nothing but a dream.

It’s friends we have beside us now

Not salmon by the score

We’ve found the love within our life

That lifts our heads once more

And there again as worthy men,

We cast our fly up stream

We reached our dream in mid-stream

Young men we are once more.

Bob Belliveau-Ferrin Lemieux
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