Fishing - Hole

It was a fishing hole,
Where I put my hook.
And a turn in the river,
Where the willows made a nook.

Where I settled for a moment,
In a position that was right.
And set my hook a-dangling,
In perchance to get a bite.

It was early in the morning,
That I felt a little squirm.
Something playing with the currents,
That was more than just a worm.

My line was full of motion,
It jangled with a swish.
And coming to the surface,
Was the image of a fish.

It was to me exciting,
In that place I put my hook.
On that turn within the river,
Where the willows made a nook.

E.P. 1908 - 1989

Not really a fishing hole. This is my husband and Joe in New Zealand.