Gone, fishing On a summer's Sunday, gone off to fish, Mother's favourite past time, her only wish, With the Honey Monster close by with a landing net, Those fish won't get away, don't you fret. Gone fishing, enjoying the sun and greenery there, Able to read and write, in peace, without a care. No storm clouds, just blue skies, as the bait is taken, A baby carp caught first, not to be mistaken. Gone fishing, got the rods and a rest to get going, Although Dad can't sit still, always to-ing and frowing. I'm supping my Pepsi and have a banquet for so many, But don't drink too much though, nowhere to spend a penny. Gone fishing with my family and loving these times, I can jot words in my mind, anything that rhymes. I'm snapping photos, memories to go back one day and look, They'll be presented beautifully in a hand made scrapbook.