There's so much more to fishing
Than the hooking of a fish,
Just as there's more to wishing
Than the getting of the wish.
There's all the winter's working,
Making lures and rods and flies
To tempt the big ones lurking
Where the rapids swirl and rise.
And sweet, new dawns for casting
In some limpid, misty pool;
A joy that's really lasting
In the singing of the spool.
There's fragrance, warm and piny,
Near the river's edge at noon;
The summer air's so winy
That the twilight comes too soon.
Campfires brightly burning
And the trout are in the pan;
Now, these are things concerning
Every happy, hungry man.
Beds of balsam waiting
As the sun sinks in the west;
Windswept woods creating
Starlit sleep, and dreams, - and rest.
Although there's more to wishing
Than the getting of the wish,
There's still some fun in fishing
If the creel is lined with fish.