The hunt
Johnclarestokes
The night before we’d gather in the front room
Load our butternut vests with the green 4-10 shells
Lay out the thermal long johns by the down filled coat and rub down the single shot Stevens for soon
The frozen dark of dawn would shake us
With the smell of bacon and pancakes wafting
Down the cold dog trot to one soundly sleeping
In dream of bushy tails above making a fuss
The way up the Shadeville road to Ferrell’s seemed
To take too long but soon we arrived ready
A son with his father and a proud grand daddy
To begin our morning for squirrel and rabbit hunting
We’d stop and listen for a spell to tell
Which tree the commotion was taking place
Careful not to crunch twigs in our slow chase
In hopes of finding where the barking did dwell
Beneath the large oak grand daddy pointed
To let the grandson take the first shot
As the fathers son watched and never forgot
The day he was given the honor too
The green shell smoking with a sweet aroma
Leaves falling and a grey thud upon the ground
The son beamed as no prouder three were found
Oh how he couldn’t wait to tell mamma.
No comments:
Post a Comment