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Shooting
by Brian Dickenson (Age: 73)
copyright 05-06-2005


Age Rating: 10 to 127

 
Written one morning long ago,
before I stopped shooting forever.



The air is crisp. The sky is clear.
The frost it bites, and stings the ear.
I walk with gun and dog at heel.
Life is good; or so I feel.

The cattle low and breathe out steam.
Lace-like ice embroiders stream.
A crow drifts by. It tries its voice.
It lives or dies. I have the choice.

It never knows how close it came
to being a dead pawn in my game.
But on this day I bear no ill
for crow or fox upon the hill.

Enough to walk, and feel alive.




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05-07-2005 Anthony Lane Stahlhut    

I once went deer hunting and sat in a deer stand for about an hour before starting to just shoot at the trees. I can see a need to hunt for food, but now those days have gone and it has just become a sport and one that I don't believe is for me either. Good poem as usuall. Thanks, Anthony
05-07-2005 David Pekrul    

Nice tight rhyme and great flow. I find that with all your poetry and this is no exception. Don't stop now, keep them coming.
Visitor Reads: 448
Total Reads: 461
Comments: 2

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