This stained glass fishing boy, created by a very dear artist friend of mine, has inspired more than one poem for me. But this one is my favorite. Hope you enjoy it.
Barefoot boy goin’ down the road
On his way to the fishin’ hole.
Faded overalls and an old straw hat,
‘Cross his shoulder a wooden pole.
Beat-up tin can filled with worms
Dug from the sun-warmed earth.
Bulge in his pocket says cookies for lunch.
A water canteen on his arm.
New beagle pup pads alongside,
Turnin’ off to sniff now and then;
An off-key tune whistled soft and low
Drifts away as the boy rounds the bend.
I can see again how it was with me,
When I didn’t have cares by the load,
When I was a barefoot farmer’s son,
Walkin’ down that fishin’ hole road.
Dagnabbit! I think I’ll grab my hat,
And hunt up my old cane pole.
I just might help him whistle that tune
When I meet him at the fishin’ hole.