I took my sons fishing, what did we catch?
One Pickeral, weeds, and a weird little fish.
Before we left, I said with brass,
'We're going to catch some Largemouth Bass'.
We'll go to our lake, where there are no crowds,
A beautiful place, called Lake in the Clouds.
In the lake they are big, in the lake they are strong,
We'll find the right spot, catch fish all day long.
We'll have sport for fun, maybe one for the dish,
But not with Pickeral, weeds, and a weird little fish.
By the shore it looked good, but fishing was dull,
We only caught, one long Pickeral.
By the beach we thought, the fish would all feed,
We threw lines out but only caught weed.
Then we tried, our luck in the middle,
We caught this weird fish that was little.
My son asked me, "whats that fish, do you know?"
My reply was, "no", and I let the fish go.
"Where's all the Bass?" one son said to me,
So I told them a story, of how it used to be.
When I was a school boy, and home from class,
I caught Trout, Yellow Perch, and a lot of Bass.
But this was today, we did not get our wish,
Only a Pickeral, weeds, and a weird little fish.
In all we had fun, my boys and I,
Being outdoors with the lake and the sky,
The Bass we know is a sporting fish,
We got a Pickeral, weeds and a weird little fish.
. . . by Kurt Vymlatil
copyright reserved 2005