To gentle ways I am inclined; <br />I have no wish to kill. <br />To creatures dumb I would be kind; <br />I like them all, but still <br />Right now I think I'd like to be <br />Beside some rippling brook, <br />And grab a worm I'd brought with me <br />And slip him on a hook. <br /> <br />I'd like to put my hand once more <br />Into a rusty can <br />And turn those squirmy creatures o'er <br />Like nuggets in a pan; <br />And for a big one, once again, <br />With eager eyes I'd look, <br />As did a boy I knew, and then <br />Impale it on a hook. <br /> <br />I've had my share of fishing joy, <br />I've fished with patent bait, <br />With chub and minnow, but the boy <br />Is lord of sport's estate <br />And no such pleasure comes to man <br />So rare as when he took <br />A worm from a tomato can <br />And slipped it on a hook. <br /> <br />I'd like to gaze with glowing eyes <br />Upon that precious bait, <br />To view each fat worm as a prize <br />To be accounted great. <br />And though I've passed from boyhood's term, <br />And opened age's book, <br />I still would like to put a worm <br />That wriggled on a hook.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-real-bait/
