I really should remember

When I'm fishing in November

That the cold will pierce me to the very core

Despite my layers of clothing

The chilliness I'm loathing

I doubt I'll fish in winter any more

The breeze makes it feel colder

And I am growing older

The wind plays in the willows like a harp

But then there is December

Though my heart's a dying ember

I'll be back to catch that damned elusive carp