The Fly Fisher's Lure

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


This poem is about: 
My family


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