May 22nd, 2000 | |||
A Hunters Poem author unknown
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that flew within his reach.
Two were stopped in their rapid flight
The male bird lay at the water's edge
He faintly called to his wounded mate
She bent her head and crooned to him
Carressing her one and only mate
Then covering him with her broken wing
She laid her head against his breast,
This story is true, though crudely told.
I stood knee-deep in snow and cold,
I buried the birds in the sand where
And I threw my gun and belt in the bay,
Hunters will call me a right poor sport
But that day something broke in my heart,
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