Fishy, Fishy, In the Pond

When I was less than 10 yrs old, I went fishing with my father and his fishing buds. This was my true introduction to the wild and wet sport of fishing.

 

 

Fishy, fishy by the brook,

little Larry with a hook.

Using daddy's rod and reel,

cook it up and make a meal.

 

Sitting patient on the dock,

ever looking at the clock.

Wonder when the fish might bite,

above the pond at such a height.

 

Now I feel a little nibble,

daddy tells me not to quibble.

"Keep it quiet, keep it calm,

or you'll need a healing balm."

 

Gripping hard, the fish soon struck,

Now I know I've all the luck.

"Pull back hard," my dad soon cried,

Leaning bravely, how I tried.

 

Tooth and nail, I fought that fish.

I would make him this day's dish.

Back and forth, and up and down,

such a fish was such a clown.

 

Daddy yelled, "You watch my rig."

as I jumped and did my jig.

"Now you watch lest off you go!"

But that fish just wouldn't slow.

 

Gripping hard, he swam straight out,

pulled me in within a shout.

Down I went within the dark.

All the men thought it a lark.

Coming up I heard my dad.

He was frightened, he was mad.

"Just let go and let it free."

As he jumped to rescue me.

 

He was walking on the bottom,

when he grabbed me like loose flotsam.

Pulled me back up to the dock,

He's my hero, he's my rock.

 

When we got the fish that day,

it was just a small sun ray.

Barely larger than a cup,

it would never make a sup.

 

So they took him off the hook,

threw him back with one last look,

Clapped my back and said, "Well done!"

"You've got fishes on the run!"

 

Yet today I'll always know,

with a special inner glow,

That my dad would always be,

great and wonderful to me!

Reviews

[T]

Fun poem with a nice memory...I like the flow of this!!!