Sitting on the ditch bank,
Fishing in a steam,
Waiting for a fish bite,
And dreaming up a dream.

Clouds turn into castles,
The birds as dragons fly,
Trees are sighing maidens,
A knight so bold am I.

Clad in shining metal,
I'm armed up to the teeth,
Oh dastardly villains!
I bring you naught but grief.

Something tugs my dream sword,
I heave it strong and stout.
And my dreams of knight deeds
Fade to a slimy trout.

©R. Bartly Betts, 2001