To gentle ways I am inclined;
  I have no wish to kill.
To creatures dumb I would be kind;
  I like them all, but still
Right now I think I'd like to be
  Beside some rippling brook,
And grab a worm I'd brought with me
  And slip him on a hook.

I'd like to put my hand once more
  Into a rusty can
And turn those squirmy creatures o'er
  Like nuggets in a pan;
And for a big one, once again,
  With eager eyes I'd look,
As did a boy I knew, and then
  Impale it on a hook.

I've had my share of fishing joy,
  I've fished with patent bait,
With chub and minnow, but the boy
  Is lord of sport's estate.
And no such pleasure comes to man
  So rare as when he took
A worm from a tomato can
  And slipped it on a hook.

I'd like to gaze with glowing eyes
  Upon that precious bait,
To view each fat worm as a prize
  To be accounted great.
And though I've passed from boyhood's term,
  And opened age's book,
I still would like to put a worm
  That wriggled on a hook.

- Edgar A. Guest

Recommend this article...