Tying flies on a Snowy Evening

Tying flies on a Snowy Evening,

Who’s fur this was I do not know
he should be fleeing bears and kicking snow;
it lies in zonkers before my eyes
to tie in tails on snakes to show.

My little son must think it queer
to cut the skins with blades as sheer
stripes of vanity on a fly
the long temptation drawing near.

The long for water in a lake
ice melting from a snowy flake
smoke and mist receding fast
The first feel of a rapid take.

The lakes are lovely, dark, and deep
but I have flies to tie and skins to reap,
and  rivers to haunt before I sleep
and rivers to haunt before I sleep

My variation on “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”,
by Robert Frost.

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