Out on the flats in Old Button's Bay
early in the morn of a late spring day
Waiting for the sun, the chill to take
from off the waters of a cold,cold lake
I lay back in my scow to ponder a time
should or should not I wet a line
A northern breaks water to look around
a pretty big fellow I reckon ten pound
The boats move in, the chubs cast out
for an hour or more many a happy shout
But I stay put in that warming sun
fully content just to watch the fun
For I have landed my share and maybe more
from out of deep water and along the shore
I pull up anchor kinda hungry by now
Heck, Ma never liked northern no how.
The Old Fisherman
