Dear Mother, I have found this poem, and although I also posted it elsewhere, I must also post it here. Enjoy this bit, Dear Mother, of exquisite poetry from Our Neighbours To The Nourth.

Idiots and The English Catch Carp In Ontario
by Emily Chesley

In the northern clime there is a certain time and way
That anglers will consign, using hook and line
To snag a big fish, that will fight back (they wish), all day
In clean Canadian waters up north
One looks for fish of worth, this way
But the locals are amused when the English choose this sport
Because the English are obviously, definitely, dorks.

Only idiots and the English catch carp in Ontario
The Irish don't care to, the Indians wouldn't dare to,
Most prefer the use of worm, or fly, or minnow.
But the English fish with corn.
In Canadian spaces they have lovely places to catch trout, pike, or bass
In Thames River mud, for this waterlogged dud, a limey will soak his ass.
On a bright summer day, the natives away to proper fishing spots go,
But idiots and the English catch carp in Ontario.

It's such a surprise for Canadian eyes to see,
Though the English are polite, they don't do fishing right,
Angling over hither, in the very same river, where we pee.
Only Fugitives from the loony bin, will risk their own skins, to enter city water.
But the English I know, would gladly a-wading go, to hook this garden fodder.
And with an angler's glee, they'll wave back and me, with a pip pip cheerio.
Only idiots and the English catch carp in Ontario.