The Old, Old Story

I have no wish to rail at fate,

And vow that I'm unfairly treated;

I do not give vent to my hate

Because at times I am defeated.

Life has its ups and downs, I know,

But tell me why should people say

Whenever after fish I go:

“You should have been here yesterday”?

It is my luck always to strike

A day when there is nothing doing,

When neither perch, nor bass, nor pike

My baited hooks will come a-wooing.

Must I a day late always be?

When not a nibble comes my way

Must someone always say to me:

“We caught a bunch here yesterday”?

I am not prone to discontent,

Nor over-zealous now to climb;

If victory is not yet meant

For me I'll calmly bide my time.

But I should like just once to go

Out fishing on some lake or bay

And not have someone mutter: “Oh,

You should have been here yesterday.”