Resurrection

Last fall when chill winds swept the fields, And swirled the dead leaves in the wood, It filled our flue with eerie squeals — I knew spring fishin' time was good, So I just took my fishin' poles And stowed 'em on the proper nails, To wait 'til spring should stir our souls And make us yearn for well loved trails.

Today, those fish poles spoke to me, From where they hung on garage wall ; And strong desire awoke in me — Desire that had been dead since fall. The flicker yammers from his tree, A soft breeze keeps the willows swishin'— My office would a prison be: I'm digging worms to go a fishin' !