The First of May – A Poem by Arnold J. Copeland

by John Venlet

My trusty rod I cherish so,

Is ready for the fray,

All polished up from tip to butt

To greet the opening day.

The boots are not just what they were,

Perhaps, not what they seem;

But patches help to navigate

A few  more miles of stream.

 

The dainty, gaudy, little flies

Once more have seen the light;

For half the fun of fishing

Is to see which one they’ll bite,

Or to argue with the other chap

Who thinks he has the dope;

Yet most the anglers that I know

Just put one on and hope.

 

I’m hankering for the tang of pines,

For crooked trails that lead

Into the forest’s tranquil heart

Where springs the rivers feed,

Clear, sparkling, crystal rivers

Forever on their way.

Man, they just take my troubles

And bear them all away.

 

As long as I can cast a fly

And watch it swiftly glide

O’er ripples, murmuring a song,

Where speckled beauties hide,

As long as pine and balsam shed

Their fragrance for mankind,

I shall find real joy in fishing,

And leave all care behind.

Arnold J. Copeland

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