ICE FISHING IS NOT FOR ME
No swish of the line, no gentle plop of the bait,
No tug on the rod for which all to patiently wait,
No struggle to win as along the lakeside you heave
At the bowing line, a big one you will not leave.
No sunny bank of a lake, river or fast flowing stream,
No small safe fire burning for really fresh fish I deem
One of the best things to eat cooked in lemon and butter,
There are no words to speak of or no phrase to utter.
Give me some clouds on a nice spring or summer day,
Where we can cast a line and see it fly quite far away,
And bring it in slowly and wait for that knowing pull,
Not caught in the reeds but a fish big fat, with no lull
In the casting and drawing in until the limit is caught,
And full and happy home the rest of the catch is brought.
But to sit in a small hut with so little at all to see
Is not, in the cold weather, were I ever want to be,
But eating the fish I remember fighting for so well,
It much better than freezing and waiting I can tell.
I want action and exercise not just sit freezing to death
Waiting for the bell to go ding watching my cold breath
Float round the hut and too cold to sit quiet and all still,
So Ill not bother to fish, and in better weather have my fill.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 22 December 2005