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33 Angling


Another day,

has passed my way,

the waters I did flay;

mind you – all was not lost,

for those flies that I had tossed,

at those brookies – speckled gray.

The mountains lent,

that sweet balsam scent,

limited by shadow’s extent –

the snow rested in the hollows,

a hatch calls forward the swallows,

in my surroundings I was quite content.

The mountain peaks,

their eroded age speaks,

between  – a myriad of creeks;

a fish here or there hides from me,

an otter or two – a deer family of three,

from somewhere high above an eagle shrieks.

A creel quite empty does not,

leave on this summer day a blot,

I relish every day – this beautiful spot;

its mountain peaks, snow, trees and fauna,

to others it is not much – but to me it is nirvana,

days like this should not be wasted, a few does He allot.

© Copy written for what I will never know.

Credit to DARVILLS