The rooster croaks at the break of dawn

The fisherman awakes from his slumber

He gathers his things and makes his way

To the stream where time ceases to exist

For him this is a moment of endless bliss

He found the American dream on this very trout stream

An ode to one of the last true fisherman

 

The fisherman begins to look back upon his life

Born to a large Italian family, lost his parents at a young age

Forcing him to be independent to keep himself out of the cage

He soon learned the joys of life

Before meeting his soon to be wife

Joined the army at 22, like many did before him

He was a peaceful man despite seeing war

 

Picked up a habit when he was young

It left a toll on his body, his youth, no more

As he fished he wondered what was left in store

Worked his business by day, loved his wife by night

Father of three, two daughters, one son

A man of few words, but when he spoke it carried weight

 

Loved the simple things, Frank Sinatra, and a glass of scotch

Quick on his feet despite two broken hips

Fished that day with not a thing on his mind

But what kind of legacy he would leave behind

 

Wisdom and guidance to his daughters, experience and knowledge to his son

A patient man he loved everyone

But as he gathered his things to make his way

The fisherman wandered astray

 

Then after longer than he had hoped he arrived home

As he lay down that night, he kissed his wife goodnight

Feeling the days work on his body

He felt a good night sleep he was worthy

 

As the morning came only one arose

The wife of the fisherman soon discovered

Her husband was unable to be bothered

As here we end the ode, to one of the few left to carry the name of a true fisherman