It was finally summer, some fish needed to be caught,
So, I and the boys carried the poles that we brought.
Through the woods to the creek down the banks,
We knew those trout would never stand a chance.
But every time we neared the shore,
We’d slide down the bank with a terrible roar.
Somehow, we would land in a yellowjacket nest,
Arms went flailing, and I tore off my fishing vest.
Swatting and swinging mostly just air,
Occasionally our blows would hit some of them there.
They’d start floating downstream where the trout had a feast,
Even this could not stop us from having fun in the least.
We had plenty of bites but none from the fish,
They would never be part of that day’s picnic dish.
We’d tell mom we had “Yellow-Jacket Surprise,”
Which would be perfect with any of her pies.
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