His First Deer Hunt

It is the break of dawn; the woods are cool.

I'm a new hunter, and I'm missing school.

On the ground there is some new fallen snow.

I am breathing low as I hold my bow.

A buck - majestic with a steady gaze;

My nervous mind is in a weary daze.

The woods are patient, hushed, a knowing place.

I have a determined look on my face.

His antlers are thorny, a crown of bone.

My desire is to make this buck my own.

The squirrels have scampered in the autumn air.

The rustling leaves fell off trees which are bare.

I draw my bow with a strong steady hand

In this peaceful, lovely, dark and deep land.

Swift, soft, and true is the arrow's flight.

It finds its mark, and the buck does not fight.

The buck starts running, its body held low.

It stumbles and falls; bloodstains in the snow.

I feel much gratitude and no regret.

My very first deer hunt I won't forget.