THE REAL BAIT

To gentle ways I am inclined;

I have no wish to kill.

To creatures dumb I would be kind;

I like them all, but still

Right now I think I'd like to be

Beside some rippling brook,

And grab a worm I'd brought with me

And slip him on a hook.

I'd like to put my hand once more

Into a rusty can

And turn those squirmy creatures o'er

Like nuggets in a pan;

And for a big one, once again,

With eager eyes I'd look,

As did a boy I knew, and then

Impale it on a hook.

I've had my share of fishing joy,

I've fished with patent bait,

With chub and minnow, but the boy

Is lord of sport's estate.

And no such pleasure comes to man

So rare as when he took

A worm from a tomato can

And slipped it on a hook.

I'd like to gaze with glowing eyes

Upon that precious bait,

To view each fat worm as a prize

To be accounted great.

And though I've passed from boyhood's term,

And opened age's book,

I still would like to put a worm

That wriggled on a hook.