OPENING DAY
November 13, 2009
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A poem by, Dorothy "Dot" Rifenbark (Hometown Poet and author of "La Belle Epoch")
He prepares for weeks
And hopes he'll succeed
In getting his buck
He has a great need
To roam the deep woods
And shoot the big gun
As soon as it's light
Upon the rising sun
He dons the bright orange
And climbs the tall tree
To sit in his stand
And feel totally free
Away from the city
The lights and the sound
He just has to feel it
The leaf-covered ground
He sits and he waits
And listens patiently to hear
The snort and the stomp
And see that familiar rear
With white tail a-flying
And ears standing up
Could it be him
The season's first buck
With heart fiercely pounding
And breathing so shallow
He squeezes the trigger
It resounds through the hollow
It flies through the air
And finds its true mark
The buck falls dead
In the now distant dark
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