Beneath the gentle morning light,
The river sings its quiet song.
With rod in hand, hope takes flight,
Where dreams and waters both belong.

The ripples dance, a ballet rare,
As patience weaves its tender thread.
In silence, nature’s thoughts we share,
While waiting for the fish to be fed.

The sun ascends, a golden hue,
Painting stories on the placid stream.
Each cast a promise, fresh and new,
Reflecting in the angler’s dream.

As dusk descends with gentle grace,
The day departs with whispered cheer.
In every catch, a trace of place,
In every moment, memories near.