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The Fishing Boy
The boy sits with his uncle
In a wooden canoe.
Surfing over the river waters
Rushing to flow.
He sits there with a fishing rod
And a bucket with no trout.
All he looks at are two squirrels
Wandering about.
He cares about the chirping birds
More than what he needs.
His fishing line catches nothing
But weeds.
His bucket is completely empty.
But, he doesn't care.
He's happy to be where he is
With cool blowing air.
In a wooden canoe.
Surfing over the river waters
Rushing to flow.
He sits there with a fishing rod
And a bucket with no trout.
All he looks at are two squirrels
Wandering about.
He cares about the chirping birds
More than what he needs.
His fishing line catches nothing
But weeds.
His bucket is completely empty.
But, he doesn't care.
He's happy to be where he is
With cool blowing air.
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