Close by the edge of the lily pads,
there's a flash and swirl of spray,
And the line draws taut, and the rod dips
low, and I sing as he speeds away;
And I whir and click with the joy of life, as
the line runs in and out,
And I laugh with glee as I reel him in, the
gamy and speckled trout.
And again the silken line is cast, and the fly
like a feather glides,