Fishing Poems: 3/5
Nature, Fishing

The Striper’s Should

© Robert Liguori

Dedicated to all anglers and those that respect the well being of fish.

On that cold, damp beach,
I came to claim my fame
A hero of the inlet,
A master of the game.

It was late November,
The moon was shining full.
My hook was fresh with clam,
Set to bring my jewel.

So with a lofty cast,
I watched my bait take air.
Then down into the water,
It fell into his lair.

Patiently, I did wait,
With my finger on the line.
Waiting for the stripers touch,
Hoping he would dine.

The night was very peaceful
A couple shooting stars.
I closed my eyes and wondered,
Were stripers near or far.

And then there was a tug,
And then silence on my line.
I knew that he'd be back,
I knew that he'd be mine.

I took a quiet moment,
To think about his soul.
Are stripers much like us?
This I feel I know.

My rod just bent in half!
My heart is pounding fast!
My line is spooling out,
What a sudden blast!

He's on, I set my hook!
And then I set again!
I give him time to run,
My rod just bends and bends!

A light rain starts to form,
And sweat roles off my face.
There's no place I'd rather be,
Than in this misty place.

I feel that I just hooked him,
Yet time has spilled away.
I've been battling this nice fish,
For hours of the day.

I spin the reel a few more times,
And now can see his tail.
He hurls out of the water,
Within the northeast gale.

I bring him into shore,
And land him on the beach.
There's nothing more to question,
This fish is five long feet.

Between fisherman and fish,
The two of us did play.
I'll send him back to sea,
Until another day.

These stripers have a gaming blood,
It's nice to understand,
That they enjoy the fight so much,
They'll do it all again.

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