Two worlds, water and air, wishing
And being, each unknown to each.
There’s no secret to fine fishing.
A boat is as good as a beach.
(The river is like a long book
Whose beginning sentence recedes.)
Please, allow no barb on the hook.
You’ll find trout hiding in the reeds,
Or flimmering in rapids, still
Above a bed of sand and stone.
Angling is no matter of skill.
It is for the fish alone
To consider and to chose.
Once hooked it’s yours to land or lose.