There will come a day when I can’t lift this rod and cast the line in its rings,
When I can’t walk the river and safely wade its margins.
When that day comes, I will be ready to meet my maker,
As the joy in life will be all behind me.
That day is not today.
I still have many beats to walk, or perhaps just a few, many times.
There are still friendships to be made anew on the riverbank and shore.
The odd take from a willing fish will keep the spirit alive.
The goal in all this is that the fish will have won, hopefully in the end.
Returning to their river, stream or burn long after my last cast has been retrieved.
The legacy of a fish to the generations to come.
When the day comes, cast me out so I can join my fathers ashes under the Cooks dam,
Completing the circle between the angler and the fish.
When I can’t walk the river and safely wade its margins.
When that day comes, I will be ready to meet my maker,
As the joy in life will be all behind me.
That day is not today.
I still have many beats to walk, or perhaps just a few, many times.
There are still friendships to be made anew on the riverbank and shore.
The odd take from a willing fish will keep the spirit alive.
The goal in all this is that the fish will have won, hopefully in the end.
Returning to their river, stream or burn long after my last cast has been retrieved.
The legacy of a fish to the generations to come.
When the day comes, cast me out so I can join my fathers ashes under the Cooks dam,
Completing the circle between the angler and the fish.