It was a bright and sunny Spring day,
with a slight breeze and nip in the air,
oe’r the mountain he had made his way,
and behind left all his worries and care.
The hawk scanned the earth – talons bare,
for a meal to feed the children in the nest,
sufficient would be a mole, mouse or hare,
once that was completed she could rest.
Snow in the shadow of the mountain high,
would keep his catch fresh through the day,
now if he could be careful and remain dry,
fishing line he would unfurl, shoot and lay.
More trout fooled him than he did they,
he kept only three for his evening repast,
returned ten browns throughout the day,
then headed to his cabin after final cast.
The sun was sinking – shadows grew long,
he saw two deer fawn playing near a pond,
then heard a meadow lark singing a song,
saw fiddlehead ferns with new born frond.
His heart grew ecstatic – he knew not why,
he was bursting with joy – no special reason,
with song in his heart – joyful tear in his eye,
other than it was the start of fishing season.
© Copy written for what I will never know.