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Posted by MFish

There was a time, that I do recall.
It may have been Winter or the Fall.
Coming home late, in early morning hours,
It was beginning to rain, more like showers.
The oldest son, had a newspaper route,
So I decided to wake him and help out.
The papers were delivered to our front door,
So I brought them in, to lay on the floor.
Folding the papers, to protect from the rain,
Was the routine, that I did now maintain.
I was down on my knees, this early day,
When my wife's voice, I heard say,
"What do you think you're doing there?"
My reply was, "Taking our son on his route."
Her voice came back to me, "In your suit?"
My response, not the best, "It's a classy neighborhood."
Out on the route, I took our young son,
Delivering papers, until it was done.
Back to the house, to shower and change
And drive back to work, in my mélange.
As I recall that there was no discussion
For the next several days.

I was in the eighth grade
When my friend and I,
Decided to go from Seattle
To Lynden, to pick strawberries.
We were both Boy Scouts
With back packs and sleeping bags.
We left our homes
On this wonderous journey,
By hitchhiking, up North, on old 99.
We arrived in Lynden, later that day
And were told "no strawberries";
it was the end of the season.
We turned around, noting our plight
And slept in a Bellingham field that night.
Back to our homes, we then went
And noticed that green bean picking
Would be another event.
But that is another story.

The darkness is falling, as we leave the shore.
Going back to our ship, nothing more.
No one is talking but there is nothing to fear,
For we're in the "Whale Boat", the ship is near.
I see the Seaman, as I am looking aft.
Thank God we have a motor; not on a raft.
Pulling up to the ship, on the Port side, with care
(That's the left side for those unaware).
Climb up the ladder on to the deck,
Salute the Flag and Duty Officer, Oh Lord,
Requesting loudly, "Permission to come aboard?"
Down to our quarters, for bed time is near,
We're protecting our Country, Please don't you fear.

The water swirls and gushes
Over rock and stone.
I stand on the bank
But I'm not alone.
There are trees of Pine
And some Bramble bush,
While the water moves
Quickly, with melodic rush.
I stand there, fly rod in hand
Making cast after cast,
Seeing where the fly will land
In the right spot,
The back of the eddy.
With fingers touching the line,
I await and am ready,
For the tap, from a fish,
That wants this fine morsel.
If it bites, I'll have my wish
And soon be on my way,
With a most delectable fish.

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