His arrows are made from the straightest of shafts,
Propelled by the bows that he patiently crafts.
Both feet on the ground and his nose to the wind,
His hunt will go on till the buck's hung and skinned.
No matter how paltry the spoor and the track
This hunter will know just where he doubled back.
Though swindled at last by the swirl of a breeze
He stands there and laughs, with the snow 'round his knees.
The warm fire beckons, as nightfall is nigh.
His bag may be empty, but spirits are high.
Woodsmoke stings his nostrils, the cabin's in sight,
The hunt is not over, just paused for the night.
So lay down your arrows and bow on the rack,
The buck is still out there and soon you'll be back.
Pull off frozen footwear with fingers that ache,
And stuff yourself silly on sweet birthday cake!
Happy birthday, Ron. :D
That ol' birfday suit still fit?
Killdeer
Topic: Happy Birthday Ron LaClair (Read 2135 times)
