In quiet waters, by morning's first light,

A fisherman waits, his heart takes flight.

His rod poised steady, his spirit keen,

In search of a monster yet to be seen.

The ripples dance upon the lake,

As whispers from the wake bait wake.

With every cast, hope takes its flight,

As dreams can be made, or crushed, in  morning's light.

All the prep the night before

For an exquisite day, or just a bore

The tug, the pull, a silent dance,

As fish and the lure meet by chance.

In the quiet of waters up ahead,

A colossal tarpon lies in its bed.

It's spots the flash of the bait, 

But noticing a hook, it decides to wait. 

Puzzled by why the silver king refused to eat

He decides to go home and claim defeat. 

When he gets home, his family will be irate 

Because he promised to be back by eight.