Wanna Touch It!

[Written upon reminiscing with a friend of the time his young grandson caught his first fish and asked grandpa, pop pop, would he want to touch it. Sometimes the things kids say write the poems. We just fill in the words.]

He was only three on his pop pop’s knee
When the old man promised the lad
To find a pole and a fishing hole,
If its okay with mom and dad.

And grant his wish to catch a fish
There are many in the brook.
We will find some worms. One always squirms
When it’s put upon a hook.

The little boy overcome with joy
Jumped from his pop-pop’s knee
“Pop,’ he cried with bubbling pride,
“Is going to fish with me!”

Fish eat worms; this pop confirms.
But take care; the hook is sharp!
Oh there’s much to see when you’re only three!
There’s catfish, bass and carp.

So pop made good what he said he would.
(Big worms he found unhurt.)
While a three year old need not be told
To dig in the softened dirt.

What we learn in time: worms are mostly slime
And perhaps a little goo.
So his grandpa smiled when he asked the child
“Do you wanna touch it, too?”

To a three year old, and this I’m told
Some fish have the silliest names.
A fish that’s a cat! Who heard of that!?
Or so his grandpa claims.

And when sheepsheads meet, do they ever bleat
And are they covered in wool?
Imagine before when you were near four
Such thoughts weren’t unusual.

He was only three, but his curiosity
Like a wave racing to the sea
Overwhelmed his soul, near past control
But pop said, “Stay with me!”

So with gear in tow they walked so slow
Down to the water’s edge
To catch a fish, that was the wish
To put in grandma’s fridge.

Then hand in hand, for, your understand
It’s always safety first.
The hook was baited and so they waited
With worm and all submersed.

Once the line was cast, it happened fast
As always it had to be;
For the attention span of this little man
Was that of a lad of three.

Oh the line did bob and his heart did throb
And grandpa began to roar,
“It’s yours alright! Hold to it tight!
And pull it into shore!”

With grandpa’s bellow the little fellow
Drew in the fish to land.
All else aside he beamed with pride
With wiggling catch in hand.

Children revere what first they hear
As grandpa always knew.
With a beam in his eye came the child’s reply
“Do you wanna touch it, too?”

But things we touch don’t mean as much:
And how might we set the measure?
What value to set and not forget:
It’s the lives we touch we should treasure.


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