A morning mist engulfs the lake, the air is fresh and clean.
You pull the anchor and set out, to waters so serene,
The sputter of the motor spits, encroaching other sounds,
That lead to the old fishing hole, where breakfast does abound,
You may sit there for many hours, in quiet contemplation.
But when the bobber bounces down, with wild anticipation,
You reel it in and hope to see, a catch that will suffice,
But sitting there just waiting, was also extremely nice.