SUmmer morning-
crossing the fence again,
old fishing pole in hand-
along with a dusty can of worms,
making my way to the lake-
cutting across a lazy breeze...
the first rays of sunlight cut across the valley,
as i toss my line into the water-and prepare for the fish to bite,
minutes pass..nothing happens,
day time bugs begain to sing-lonely birds humm along,
the water is still,,my worms look happy,
the landscape begains to change shadows,
as morning turns to noon,
still not a bite..no fish in sight,
I decide to leave-cause these fish must still be asleep,
departing the afternoon heat,,in fishless defeat,
later on in the early night-
there comes a knock at the door,
it was my brother..he'd been fishing and wanted to show me his catch,
I knew not where he'd been-but oh the fish he had!
I was intersted so i asked where he'd been fishin-
he'd been to the lake-
and that i made a mistake going there so early in the day-
cause not all fish have morning classes in their schools.
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