ho the windows still are frosted,
and the winds still bluster keen
I do not seen the steel glazed panes
nor the pavements icy sheen.
The sun has pierced the cloud banks
There's a songbird flitting past
There's an itching in my fingers
for the snow is melting fast.
The water drips from twig and eaves
I ache and yawn and pine
for a sandy beach or a grassy bank
and for rod and a hook and line.
I don't care what I fish for
The speckled trout or eel
the codfish, bass - it's all the same
oh-hum, how mean I feel.
I want to go and loaf some place
with the sun a'soaking in
a'limbering up arms and legs
and burning thru my skin.
I want to sneak away from jobs
I want to cast a fly
I want to angle in the sea.
if I don't
I know
I'll
die!
~ AF Westervelt (1926)
