Fishermen

By Ron Nicholas

For years they have kept me entertained
Those folk called fishermen
With tales so tall and the truth so stretched
Either told by mouth or pen

A fish is caught though be it small
But when taken off the hook
It suddenly grows to enormous size
You can hear but never look

The best of all are at the pub
Where the size keep getting bigger
At the pots go down, the size goes up
Don’t laugh or even snigger

Another joke is the bait they use
They will tell you anything
If fish are biting well on worms
They tell you crabs are king

Now fishing spots get quite a line
If you ask them, ‘Where’s the spot?’
They will tell you of a lovely place
Where catching fish is not

But all up they’re a helpful lot
When a fellers sick as hell
Just a mention of a fishing trip
In no time he is well

And the money spent to feed their needs
With boats and fishing gear
With trips away, using loads of pay
Feeds an industry, that’s clear

And think of all the women folk
Who get some peace of mind
When their old mans on a fishing trip
And solitude they find

So say a prayer for our fishermen
May they live a happy life
And beat their mates when they tell a tale
And keep a happy wife