Gone Fishing
Went fishing with Father down at the stream,
We caught us a couple, of brown trout and bream
Took them back to the hut cleaned and gutted them all
Cooked them for supper, although they were small
Sat out by the fire on that hot summers night
With only the moon, and the stars for our light
We talked through the evening ‘bout nothing at all
He told me some tales, most of them tall
I’ll remember that trip till the day that I die
The bestest day ever, just Father and I
© John W Fenn 03-12-2008
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