Here is one I did earlier

Dedicated to all those big Conger Catchers.


It was choppy and rough as he put out to sea,
but never a thought of danger had he,
as he battled his way out past the old sewer buoy.
He was tossed up and down like a small plastic toy.

The going was rough but the skipper was tough,
(as he spewed all over the side)
a forty five pounder was all he could think of,
t'was mainly a matter of pride.

His hook was the size of a monstrous harpoon,
with barbs all shiny and bright,
his bait were six mackerel all hung in a row,
for he intended to do everything right.

He cast his line over the side of the boat,
the weights pulled it down in the deep.
The tide it was strong, and the line it was long.
T'was enough to make lesser men weep.

It was twenty below,and then came the snow
but the grip on his rod did not weaken
for he knew when the Conger he sought took the bait.
It would be the one he'd been seekin.

He fished all the day in the rain and the snow,
His rod bent double and the line ran out,
He knew for sure a conger was down below.
He sweated and played it with never a doubt.

At last he began to reel it in. Oh heck
With a tug and a shake it caught in the net.
A girt conger of forty five pounds on the deck !
His dream of joining the conger club met.

He's been there, done that.
and now has the "T" shirt and hat.
But he'll still be out in the Bay every day
for the big'uns he knows got away !