Fishing Nooks

“Men will grow weary,” said the Lord,

“Of working for their bed and board.

They'll weary of the money chase

And want to find a resting place

Where hum of wheel is never heard

And no one speaks an angry word,

And selfishness and greed and pride

And petty motives do n't abide.

They'll need a place where they can go

To wash their souls as white as snow.

They will be better men and true

If they can play a day or two.”

The Lord then made the brooks to flow

And fashioned rivers here below,

And many lakes; for water seems

Best suited for a mortal's dreams.

He placed about them willow trees

To catch the murmur of the breeze,

And sent the birds that sing the best

Among the foliage to nest.

He filled each pond and stream and lake

With fish for man to come and take;

Then stretched a velvet carpet deep

On which a weary soul could sleep.

It seemed to me the Good Lord knew

That man would want something to do

When worn and wearied with the stress

Of battling hard for world success.

When sick at heart of all the strife

And pettiness of daily life,

He knew he'd need, from time to time,

To cleanse himself of city grime,

And he would want some place to be

Where hate and greed he'd never see.

And so on lakes and streams and brooks

The Good Lord fashioned fishing nooks.