The Boy Fishing

The Boy Fishing by E.J. Scovell was yet another of the poems memorised to try and win the poetry competition.  Tonight I was only able to remember the first four lines, though I'll cut myself some slack on that point, seeing as I memorised the poem for a competition held in 1976!!

After some research using Google, I managed to find the remaining four lines.  Enjoy!

I am cold and alone, 
On my tree-root sitting as still as a stone.
The fish come to my net. I scorned the sun,
The voices on the road, and they have gone.
My eyes are buried in the cold pond, under
The cold, spread leaves; my thoughts are silver-wet.
I have ten stickleback, a half-day's plunder,
Safe in my jar. I shall have ten more yet.