I’d spent the day at Birkin Pond and bagged a carp or two

On luncheon meat and sweetcorn and bread and maggots too.

But in a lull of action when quietude had struck,

The fish no longer biting, I start to read my book.

The day was warm and peaceful, so I began to nod

And unbeknownst to me a fish was tugging at my rod.

The saucy thing had spent some time nibbling at my meat;

It didn’t spit it out but swallowed, beating its retreat.

The bloody thing had dashed away before I could respond

And tugged my rod so hard it spurted right across the pond.

The only thing I had that day that’s waterproof was skin

So I stripped to my trolleys and started wading in.

And squidging through the mud and weed I made the other bank

I thought, “I’ll get my own back now” and gave my rod a yank.

But all I pulled was empty line;  I said, “What rotten luck!”

Or something similar to that; the fish had slipped the hook.

The moral of this story is “Keep Your Rod in View”

You never know when Lady Luck will pull it off for you.