As the mercury begins its annual retreat
the angler keeps a watch
the winter water, dark and cold
as silvery sources flicker
Hot air turning to almost fog
as chair it rests on sawn up logs
and line it sits, still, with great aplomb
as angler watches for a flicker
The float bobs away
in the ice cold soup
slight winds make it bob and loop
but not yet beyond its line it stoops
Ripples in water – give something away
as down in the depths – something does play
so sat angler waits – and beef tea he does pour
whilst listening to sports news on Radio four
But then there’s some action – could that be a Pike ?
the float swings round wildly – It’s the chain off a bike
and bubbles arising ? – the laughter of the fish
who’ve stopping being put on the wall or a dish
