Teaching A Fly How To Float

When I was a lad I was usually glad
To find myself out in a boat.
For here there was room and time to consume
In teaching a fly how to float.

While wading a stream there was more time to dream
And a feeling of being remote.
I went on with my work to solve my little quirk
Of teaching a fly how to float.

I learned how to flip one but sometimes would whip one
And catch a poor trout by the throat.
But though I was glad there were trout to be had
The darn fly would often not float.

I used flies of deer hair and once one of steer hair
Much time to the sport I’d devote.
I’d silicone soak them and sometimes would stroke them
But seldom would they try to float.

While others are wishing I’m often out fishing
A vest full of flies do I tote.
I think that I’m wise but none of those flies
Has ever been taught how to float.

I will try to be brave as I go to my grave
Of fishing I’ll no doubt emote.
I’ll surely be sad, perhaps even mad
That I’ve not taught a fly how to float.