This is a poem I wrote in I believe the year 2000 about the night before a fishing trip. Any fisherman who's ever been on an early morning fishing trip knows there is a certain magic to the night before the trip. Preparing all of the gear, making sure everything is gathered together and ready to go, and knowing that you will be dog ass tired when that alarm clock goes off at 3 or 4 in the morning.
The entire poem is on the next page. I hope you enjoy.
The night before, you are tired and sore
You're out to catch bait, an enjoyable chore
You seek the best that you can offer your prey
As the sun slowly rises and begins a new day
But for now it is dark, in the blackness of night
As you toss them in the bucket, you imagine the fight
The cold wind blows through your salty wet shirt
You have forgotten your day, when your focus was work
By flashlight or lantern or moonlight you toil
The loud hum in the night will keep them from spoil
Peek now and then as you watch the count grow
Pulled from black water with a green sparkling glow
A cacophony of splashes, "nervous water" you hear
The morning is closer, your adventure is near
Once your bucket is filled with your favorite bait
You head home wet and tired, resigned to your fate
Sleep will not come this night as you wish
You lie there awake, imagining fish
The tossing and turning is too much to bear
You head to your tackle, and start to prepare
You tie and you sharpen, you rig up your poles
The tools you will need, to accomplish your goals
The weather is blasting from an old radio
Come hail or high water, you're determined to go
The coffee has brewed, your senses alert
You pack up your tackle, and dawn your old shirt
The sky slowly lightens, and now you must go
To your old fishing grounds, their secrets you know
Like a dream you have drifted through this night before day
This time honored tradition of preparing to play
Over the years, you have come to know
The Night Before has a magic, all of it's own
© Michael Repper