Lake Fever
(with apologies to John Masefield)

I MUST down to the lake again,
     to the county ramp and the lot,

And all I ask is a little boat 
     and no one explaining knots,

And a paddle and some clothesline 
     and the old blue tarps'l shaking,

And a greyish look on my morning face 
     and an orange dawn awaking.

I must down to the lake again, 
     for the call of the chilling beer

Is a quiet call and a soothing call 
     that others may not hear;

And all I ask is a sunny day 
     with time to take a nap,

Without spray or motor noise, 
     and not too much sea-gull crap.

I must down to the lake again, 
     where the vagrant keeps his stuff,

Where the fishing stinks and mudflat stinks 
     and the wind's a shifting puff;

And quiet sleep and a little lunch 
     when the daylong morning's over.