Document 39

Wishing fur the fishing

Author(s): George Hynd

Copyright holder(s): George Hynd

By a bubbling, gurgelling hillside stream,
a fisherman sits doon tae dream,
summers fragrant scents, float on the gentle freeze
and a buzzing symphony is droned by buzy honey beez.

This perfect peace, and solitude
by his lonely wife, is never understood.
The running burn is his true love, as a
Curlew cries out high above.

His favourite rod sits by his side
beloved more than any bride
and only he, can love and affection feel
for that ancient time worn, hand polished reed.

And balanced there upon his knees
is an auld battered box that fu o flees
Bonnie wee bright coloured, sparkling things, that wid dazzle yer een
but masell ave done better wi an auld bent peen.

So wi peter ross and Greenwill, wi silver butcher on the tack
He casts all day to no availl
as ower the burn, his cast it flies
searchin for where his quarry lies!

Aw day, he wanders up an doon the Burn
his loosin the heid noo, an startin tae girn
As he bawls an shouts, come oot, come oot
Wherever ye are ya wee broon troot!

But fur him, the wee troot wis to wize
as underneath a stane it lies
nae fancy flees for its wee gub
he should have used a docken grub

So wi empty back he wanders home
His day is oer, nae mair burn tae roam.
An he wonders just what he can say
Aboot the yin that got away.

An as he opens up the door,
An throws his bag upon the floor.
His spouse comes oot wi a snide remark.
Whit's fur tea, did ye catch a shark.

So he peels some tatties tae make the chips
an just tae really pleas her
he puts the fryin pan on the stove
an gets fish-fingers oot the freezer!

Information about Document 39

Wishing fur the fishing