The Fisherman's Dream

The Fisherman's Dream
by Rick MC

The fisherman rose in the half-light of dawn,
and pulled his boots and his waders on
and grabbed his rod and reel and vest
and flippers and float tube and all the rest,

And he grabbed his Jake's and his Super-Duper
and packed it all in his trusty Trooper
and off he went in pursuit of trout-
he'd find them soon, there was no doubt.

Up tortuous roads full of rocks and ruts-
to drive through it you'd have to be (skilled)
Through slippery mud and choking dust
he bounced along, and muttered and cussed.

Up past groves of towering pine
and fields of paintbrush and columbine,
into fresh air and a gentle breeze
that stirred the leaves of the aspen trees,
Until at last, as if in a dream
he pulled alongside his favorite stream.
He saw that there was a mayfly hatch,
and he knew there were lunkers that he would catch

There were rainbows and cutthroats, and wily brooks
that would soon be fooled by his feathered hooks
But as he entered the rushing creek
he noticed his waders had sprung a leak.

Just then a huge brown rose to his lure,
and he set the hook with a move swift and sure
and he battled the the giant at the end of his line
and thought, "this beauty will soon be mine."

But the trout knew the waters better than he
and headed for the deep pool under the tree
and the fisherman followed, but slipped on a stone
and plunged head first into the unknown.

His leaking waders were now full of the stream,
and before he went under he could only scream
a quick prayer that God save his mangy soul,
then he sunk into the deep, dark hole.

Soon he found himself bathed in a brilliant light,
and the warm sun was sure a welcome sight,
but sitting beside him was old Saint Peter.
(whose name really helps with rhyme and meter)

He jumped up and asked "what are you doing here?"
Peter calmly assured him he had nothing to fear.
"You've died," he said, "and in heaven you'll rest,
something your friends would never have guessed."

" but this place looks like the Uintahs," he cried,
"how can that be if I've really died?"
Look around, said Peter, at this beautiful garden-
no BLM, no ornery game warden."

"But why am I here, when in prayer I cried
that God would save my mangy hide?"
Then Peter got this look on his face
and gazed off into the cloudless space

"So that was you," St. Peter exclaimed,
"But I'm afraid that God can't be blamed,
he sent legions of angels to answer your call
but they didn't recognize your voice at all."

It had been so long since your last prayer,
we had trouble identifying you down there,
so the angels, in order to meet their quota,
saved a drowning man in North Dakota."

Then the fisherman woke from his terrible dream-
he was still in bed, not under the stream.
And he dropped to his knees, and with tears in his eyes,
Thanked God for his life, and his fish, and his flies.