72 Bird Day Book 



DREAMING AND WAITING. 



IT'S COLD up there and the ice is thick, 

 And the wind through the trees is swishing; 

 But my soul still loiters around the creek, 

 Awaiting the time for fishing. 



It's a long, long wait to my restless soul 

 To the time when the bass are biting; 



But it haunts my favorite fishing hole, 

 While I'm in the office writing. 



And it comes at night from the mountain stream 

 And the lakes that are sheeted glass, 



And while I slumber it conjures dreams 

 For me of the gamy bass. 



For a fisherman's soul never stays at work, 

 Though the fisherman's forced to grind, 



But haunts the spot where the big ones lurk, 

 And troubles his peace of mind. 



And so I sit in the office here, 



While my soul at the old spot lingers, 

 In fancy out on the water clear 



W r ith a line running through my fingers. 



— Detroit Free Press. 



