Deer Hunter

In between a couple of old forked trees
Is nestled a nailed together pine stand
Where a man dressed in camo and neon
Patiently waits with his rifle in hand

There’s a conveniently placed tasty salt lick
And some crab apples strewn here and there
Camouflaged man spies through his scope
Scanning below for sight of the first pair

At his side a canteen of fresh water
The ground is snowy, the morning brisk
Coffee is always his first preference
Still the warmth is not worth the risk

No whiff of man can ever be present
Their keen detection creating more dare
The man in camouflage stiffens himself
From his scoped eye he’s viewed white hair

After hours of stalking, a shot thunders
Simultaneously there is something of a scream
Camo man wanders home with only gun in hand
Target missed again, mounted antlers still a dream


copyright 2008 Cheryl A. Caron

by Cheryl A. Caron

Other poems of CARON (30)

Comments (1)

I like this one it flows