Wading

Wading through,
the cold, cold creek.
My body strong,
my courage weak.

Why am I here,
in the water high,
trying to fish with,
a Royal Coachman fly?

I've always fished,
using live bait,
but wanted to fly fish.
I need patience and wait,

until the elusive fish,
tries to sample my fly.
I'll set the hook,
in the blink of an eye.