|The Writer's Page
||March 27th, 2008|
A new page in The Paper that offers a forum for area writers to display their work, to offer commentary, and/or criticism. Submit work by email, photo art will be considered (we prefer jpg). This will be an occasional feature, scheduled when the editor feels there is sufficent material with which to work and sufficient space to publish. No phone calls, please.
A Hunter's Poem
by Lemuel T. Ward
A hunter shot a flock of geese
that flew within his reach.
Two were stopped in their rapid flight
and fell upon the beach.
The male bird lay at the water's edge
and just before he died,
He faintly called to his wounded mate
and she dragged herself to his side.
She bent her head and crooned to him
in a way distressed and wild.
Caressing her one and only mate,
as a mother would a child.
Then covering him with her broken wing
and gasping with failing breath,
She laid her head against his breast,
a feeble honk ... then death.
This story is true but crudely told,
for I was the man in this case.
I stood knee-deep in snow and cold
and hot tears ran down my face.
I buried the birds in the sand where they lay,
wrapped in my hunting coat,
And threw my gun and belt in the bay
when I crossed in the open boat.
Hunters will call me a right poor sport
and scoff at the things I did,
But that day something broke in my heart,
and "Shoot again?" God forbid!