Putting my fishing gear away,
I pick up the rod
And see a fly attached.
How much it means to stand in
The river…
The beauty;
The calm;
Worries left on the river bank.
The Battenkill beckons.
The winter sun through
the bare branches
reflected on the surface.
We’ll get to spring.
We always do.
December 12, 2021
poems for friends 
Yes, we always do. Thanks Harry!
LikeLike
So evocative, Harry. Love the final couplet’s optimism!
LikeLike
Always enjoy your poems Harry!
On Thu, Dec 16, 2021, 12:26 PM poems for friends wrote:
> hkresky posted: ” Putting my fishing gear away, I pick up the rod And see > a fly attached. How much it means to stand in The river… The beauty; The > calm; Worries left on the river bank. The Battenkill beckons. The winter > sun through th” >
LikeLike
Love how the river and spring both beckon.
LikeLike