~
the good days,
the very best, were
when we snatched
an hour before breakfast,
we’d left the rods tackled up
hidden near the water,
tiny grey duster flies
tied long, ready for
the first rise of the day,
early mist wraiths
would slowly draw up
like a theatre curtain, still
cloaking a pale wet sun,
in that magical hour,
the trilling birdsong
waterfowl preening
amongst the reeds
kelly kettle on the go,
it might have been Eden
*
© Graham R Sherwood 03/24
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 