Classic Poem

How oft I'd steal away, in hot July,
At early dawn, thro' dell and over hill,
To hear at last Coquitlam's purring rill!—
To whip the riffles with some gaudy fly,
And tempt the leaping trout, alert and shy!
Munching a bit of chocolate to still
My hunger, as the day grew long, until
The Sun was shining low upon the sky.

Then, proudly, with the fish that I had caught,
Go trudging home for many a weary mile,
Full certain of a mother's welcome smile,
And that she'd choose the best that I had got,
And bid me tell her all about it, while
'Twas cook'd up for my supper smoking hot.