A Fisherman's Night Before Christmas....

[dropped9]

A Fisherman's Night Before Christmas


'Twas the night before Christmas and all through our house,
Not a creature was stirring (well, maybe a couple of box elder bugs and a mouse).
Our stockings were thrown in a pile by the chair,
In hopes that a cleaning lady soon would be there.
The TV was turned off - an unusual scene,
(Visions of sports danced no more on the screen).
And Linda in her flannel and Rick in his shorts,
Had just settled down with some sighs and some snorts.

When out on the lawn there arose such a commotion,
Rick sprang from his bed (and sprained his back in the motion).
"What can THAT be - it must be some kids,
Driving over our lawn and making those skids!"

Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Tripped over his shoes and fell into the trash.
He picked himself up and he peered through the pane,
(After uttering comments both base and profane).

The beam of his flashlight held tight in his fist,
Made the glare of a spotlight that couldn't be missed.
And what to his wondering eyes should amass,
But a miniature boat pulled by eight large-mouth bass!

With a little old angler, a professional caster,
He knew in a moment it must be the Bass Master.
More rapid than eelpout his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

"Now, Swimmer! Now, Striper! Now, Splasher and Finner!
On, Neptune! On, Poseidon! On, Mermaid and Dinner!
Take a left at that truck and a right at that wall,
Now splash away, splash away, splash away all!

Rick rubbed at his eyes as he took in the sight,
Of this spectacle gaining in speed and in height.
Up to the housetop the coursers they flew,
With a boat full of lures - and the Bass Master, too!

And then in a twinkling Rick heard it begin -
The flopping and slapping of tail and of fin.
As he drew in his head and was turning around,
Down the chimney the Bass Master came with a bound.

From his head to his foot he was dressed all in khaki,
(To tell you the truth, he looked slightly tacky).
A net full of gear he'd slung over one shoulder,
"He reminds me of me", thought Rick, "only older".

His eyes how they darted! His pimples, how merry!
His cheeks like Four Roses, his nose slightly hairy.
His wry little mouth was drawn up in a grin,
And a bushy gray beard jutted out from his chin.

The stub of a cigarette was part of his charm,
And the smoke it emitted almost set off the alarm.
He had a broad face and little beer gut,
That shook when he laughed while inspecting our hut.

The odd little hat that was perched on his head,
Was stuck full of lures that were yellow and red.
The cheerful old guy with hip waders and gear,
Soon gave Rick to know he had nothing to fear.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
Filled all tackle boxes, then turned with a jerk,
And pulling his finger from out of his nose,
Flicked a booger on Rick, then up he arose.

And giving a nod, gave a whistle to his team,
And away they all swam, like trout up a stream.
But Rick heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,
"Happy Opener to all, and to all - a good bite!"