The Real Bait

To gentle ways I am inclined; I have no wish to kill. To creatures dumb I would be kind; I like them all, but still Right now I think I'd like to be Beside some rippling brook, And grab a worm I'd brought with me And slip him on a hook. I'd like to put my hand once more Into a rusty can And turn those squirmy creatures o'er Like nuggets in a pan; And for a big one, once again, With eager eyes I'd look, As did a boy I knew, and then Impale it on a hook. I've had my share of fishing joy, I've fished with patent bait, With chub and minnow, but the boy Is lord of sport's estate And no such pleasure comes to man So rare as when he took A worm from a tomato can And slipped it on a hook. I'd like to gaze with glowing eyes Upon that precious bait, To view each fat worm as a prize To be accounted great. And though I've passed from boyhood's term, And opened age's book, I still would like to put a worm That wriggled on a hook.