Sonnet To The Guide Killers

Say, you mister hunting man from the town,

     With your shooting paraphernalia fine,

     Who come out here into these woods of mine,

I want a word with you ere you come down

And pull the trigger on my suit of brown;

     I am no deer, I want you all to know,

     Or moose or bear or e’en Jack-rabbit so

I’m not a target for a city clown.

Sometimes I chance to go and fell a tree,

     Or pick up nuts, or homeward drive the cows

     Who love to loiter, linger beat and browse

Under the spreading chestnut. When you see

     Something move whether brown or black it be

     For Heaven’s sake don’t shoot, it may be me!

Oct. 20, ‘05