Fly-tiers abound, teem on many shores,
but your secret piscine scene I’ve never seen before.
Whether lures or flies,
your catch counts are high.
Bounties bound from the stream where you fish.

Thanks for leading me far away from town,
where the sun streams through the trees
and beer is streaming down
throats after we pour a bottle then more…
bounty’s rounds at the stream where you fish.

And oh, the power of reeling
in a load between gulps of beer.
I know the power of creeling
as fins and skins that I've stuffed in cause me to cheer.

People do not share this vicinity;
I have lost my pristine piscine-scene virginity.
I let fly a fly,
but I hook your eye…
a mishap at the stream where you fish.

Peepers gawk and stare when they’re object-free…
one orb pops out, as I've not stopped my tugs; optically
you’ve become a guy with one baleful eye
(no more orbs are bi…lost one baitful eye),
which then gleams in the stream where you fish.
Fishies teem ’round and eat down this dish.
Could they speak, they might shriek, “It’s delish!!”