It took you months, if not years,
to mold your favorite lure.
Little did you fathom
The untold treasures
It would so selflessly surrender to you and yours.
At first, you always attached it to your line.
You were proud to have the best of lures
To cast away and at your whim,
Reel back in
With prime catches always floppin'
on its end.
As time went by,
This lure of yours
Began to lose the wondrous colors -
The diverse textures you once knew.
You were not as proud
To cast it out and real it back
In in pubic view,
With nothing to your liking
At the end
Of your fly fishing line.
And so, you tried and tried
To remold that defiled lure
To meet your strictest specifications.
But despite your drive,
All your efforts went for naught.
The lure had take on a different cast.
And no amount of trying
Would bring it back
To its former form of flying.
The one you had been so proud to cast
Left you now aghast!
For one last time, late at night,
You took your old favorite lure
Down to the river.
You cast it way down stream.
This time you did not real it in,
Instead you cut the line
And left it to float -
From all who wondered -
"What ever happened to that favorite lure?"
Little did they know,
It had swum away.
@ 2002 Ashlely Frigerio