The One
Picked from the bunch of steel roughed wedges
I filed it and worked it and honed its rough edges.
Perfect angle of malice, sharp enough to cut hair,
Tested on the sharpener, till arms were bare.
3 sisters were worked in much the same way:
But the first one was special, it’d have the say.
On the hunt, on the shot, missed mark or not,
It’d be the one made ready for a shot.
A walk in the moon shadows, to a lookout of spruce,
With wind in my face, the one was sent loose.
Crashing away and into the morning glow,
The elk thought unwounded, other elk in tow.
Down on the trail with the one I found myself there,
With a few drops of crimson and a few tan hairs.
The trail I did follow, with eyes glued down:
I found the elk dead with both a smile and a frown.
Smiling from knowing I had killed my first one,
Frown from a feeling knowing my season was done.
All summer I had listened to the wilds of the call,
But the one had come calling and ended it all.
Meat for my family and tanned hide for my home,
Many stories to tell, many photos were shone.
The one was re-sharpened, a ritual was re-borne,
The next hunt he’d be ready for duty once more.
60 days from now and this flatlander will be in elk country again. As I sharpened up last years broadheads I thought of this poem...can't wait to be in the high country once more
Topic: The One...a poem for the hunt (Read 231 times)
