Meaningless shite

Hmm.

there was once a young man, a hopeless romantic by pure nature
he lived over the rolling hills in a cabin, of his dreams he was unsure
then one day he looked andpeered out into the greenery beyond
overwhelmed by his own boredom he decided to fish by the pond

packing up his fishing case, he then retrieved his father's fishing rod
slipping on his lucky canvas shoes he donned his straw-made hat
I wonder what I'll be catching today he wondered in silent thought
I'll wager that today's my lucky day, and by the pond's edge he sat

the sun was shining brightly, and he soon had sweat on his brow
he knew fishing was a patient job and one must be prepared to wait
using his sleeve to wipe himself, he watched a farmer work the plow
fishing rod in one hand he opened his box and then attached the bait

a swish and plop the young man swung and the bobbing float did meet
the cool and dark waters where many fish lurked in silence beneath
a small tip of his hat to one side, and upon a log he propped his feet
contemplating his prospects he grew warmer and chose to pick his teeth

now many a fish that swam in the pond knew a bait by common sight
not many were once lured but their memory has served them well enough
for their cousins and brothers, their carnal desires they could never fight
for being hooked unto that bobbing float, the reality was just too tough

the young romantic now did he lie fully sprawled upon the green grass
his fishing rod was bending now, but his eyes were covered by his hat
a fish was snared but in the moment everything wasn't moving fast
until the young man awoke once more, reeling in the fish just like *that*

proud of his catch, he swung once more but fate has never been too kind
for the fishes laid low for now and mourned for their long lost comrade
a long wait ensued, and the romantic was soon bored right out of his mind
as the shadows lengthened more and he realised his luck had just turned bad

admitting defeat, he swung his shoes by the laces over his right-hand shoulder
fishing case in hand and rod tucked under his arm he went home once again
stoking the fire a sudden draught under the door caused the wood to smoulder
swinging up his tired feet, he decided tomorrow he had to have a new plan.



Cheers,

Crawldaddy