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A feller isn’t thinking mean---
out fishin’
His thoughts are mostly good and clean---
out fishin’
He does not knock his fellowmen,
or harbor any grudges then.
A feller’s at his finest when---
out fishin’.
A feller’s glad to be a friend,---
out fishin’.
A helpin’ hand he’ll always lend,---
out fishin’.
The brotherhood of rod and line
an’ sky and stream is always fine,
Men come real close to God’s
design,--- out fishin’.
A feller isn’t plotting schemes,---
out fishin’.
He’s only busy with his dreams,---
out fishin’.
His livery is a coat of tan; his creed
---to do the best he can;
A feller’s always mostly man,---
out fishin’.
My quest for Beauty led me every place-
I found it in a mother’s careworn face;
Its lines are an adornment, for they trace
A pattern of high courage to face pain
And weariness. Of hours she has lain
Awake to hear each sound. She is not plain
Whose eyes reflect serenity by day.
She’d smile, disbelieving, should I say,
“You’ve kept the thing you thought you gave away.”
Nor can an “aid” or artifice compare
With giving love, for sketching beauty rare.
Her face is lifted – up to God in prayer!
