…

I hate anticipating anything, it gets my nerves going.

A true fishy story from my youth.

Soldier so sure ignore your poor – too participate with the fate.

Another in what seems destined to be an ongoing attempt by a male to write songs suitable for a female to sing.

At the stroke of midnight it became the sixteenth of June the first and best day of the fishing season.

The life of a fisherman, and the joy it gives him.

A short poem.