My Poem

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  On the Other Side of the Line
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The river is moving fast,
  It runs on ahead,
  Not waiting for me to catch up.
  Everything around me is in a hurry.
  Yet somehow I can breathe here.
  
  
  I reel in my line.
  The bait at the end is gone.
  As I put on a new grasshopper,
  I take a glance the opposite shore.
  
  
  Across the river,
  White water rafters prepare to shove off.
  They load their rafts to the tune of "Lay Down Sally."
  Eric Clapton's voice carries over the roar of the river.
  
  
  I cast my line out,
  And let my bobber float downstream.
  My eyes are focused on the small red and yellow float.
  I stand as still as the unmoving mountains.
  
  
  Suddenly the bobber dives underwater.
  I spring to life and pull back my rod.
  I feel the unmistakable tug of a fish,
  Swimming with the current, fighting to break my line.
  
  
  My reel zizzes and whirs as the line flies out.
  I reel in frantically, but make very little progress.
  Slowly I pull it closer,
  Inch by inch the fish gives way.
  
  
  I can almost reach out and grab it now.
  My eyes are fixed on the fish, trying to size it up.
  Finally I pull it onto shore,
  And hold it close to my face.
  
  
  It's a brown trout.
  It's speckled sides gleaming,
  As it wriggles on the end of my line.
  This is the best part of fishing.
  When you finally see what's on the end of your line.