Damian Cranney (27/09/1949 / Liverpool)
There is no peace to equal that, of fishing by a Lake,
Or a stream, or river broad, or pond within a wood,
If worries you would cast away, take a fishing break,
Nature, is the balm that Soothes, the restless soul for good.
I remember, one idyllic, sunny day in spring,
Rising early, well before, dawns tentative groping light,
Arriving at the lake to hear, a far off robin, sing,
A ripple from a rising fish, all added to the sight,
To angle for your supper, is reward enough, it's true,
But that day, was a record day, eleven trout all told,
It fed the family well, perhaps a week or two,
But memories of that treasured day, is what inside, we hold.
However if excitement is what your craving for,
Fishing in a little boat, upon a rolling sea,
Buffeted by waves and wind, not too far from the shore,
Satisfies the need inside and makes our souls run free.
Fighting fish and nature, whatever form, you choose,
Fresh water or the salty brine, the outcome is the same,
Catching cod and mackerel, you later have for tea,
Is wonderful, I promise you, and part of life's rich game.
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