Once there was a perfect switch,
Of bamboo with a natural twitch;
Shaven and lacquered from butt to tip,
Along its length in, oh, so subtle a pitch.
To this 'twas added a knurly wood form,
For hand to hold and so thus beautifully adorned,
Fly tied colorfully could thus be flicked,
At the end of silken line in one's comfort grip.
And upon its length were added wiry loops,
Through which silken line would swoosh and shoot,
Gliding from spool by hand to subtle tip,
Then upon water's crystalline surface which,
Hope smiled eternal for just one twitch.
So work it was at fever's pitch,
Shaving bark from surface and winding threads so rich,
All this from wild grass, mind you, which,
Shoots are eaten along with these fine-colored fish.
~D.P.Salamone
