From the Evening Star, May 7, 1914. By Philander Johnson.
I watched the gently flowing stream
Where silver ripples stray.
Beneath the water’s flash and gleam
I knew the fish would play.
I thought of many a prize to make
A rare and tempting dish.
I sat and dreamed, though half awake,
That I was stringin’ fish.
I looked and saw the finny tribe
Down in the water clear.
Swift circles they would there describe
And to my hook draw near.
I made full many a fervent wish,
They romped in graceful glee.
I dreamed that I was stringin’ fish.
The fish were stringin’ me.