Early morning,
birds chirp, as a loon calls through the thick mist.
Early morning,
hook, line, and sinker, waiting for fish.

Cold bread and meat, eaten for each meal,
Catching food for yourself has a unique feel.
Water like glass, shatters in the wake,
every year to date, the family fishes this lake.

Late afternoon,
The sun beams down, no time to waste.
Late afternoon,
Spot after spot, because catfish have a peculiar taste.

Broken lines, rough water, lures in trees,
sportsmen know fishing is worse after a deep freeze.
The bay, point, and steep shoreline worked,
To find a free meal, no one knows where fish lurk.

Later that night,
a cloudy moon shines, as an owl hoots.
Later that night,
helping clean walleye, I smell frying food.

Olive oil, butter, and lemon pepper,
A good cook knows fresh fish taste better.
Proud of the days catch, a filling meal for me,
A fish fry party better with family.