The Joy Hunter

He was a mighty hunter and he sallied forth to shoot

     And all the game it trembled through the forest far and wide;

He must have been a hunter for he wore a hunter’s suit,

     With a gun of latest pattern hanging downward at his side.

The squirrel hid in terror, and the partridge flew away,

     The rabbit skulked to safety ‘neath the ruined old stone wall;

The duck staid in the heavens where a shot could never stray,

     “Bob White” staid under cover and would answer not his call.

He wandered over meadow and he roamed across the lea,

     And tramped the forest faithfully until the close of day;

And during all his wanderings, no victim did he see,

     Not once the mighty hunter brought his weapon into play.

And did he curse his folly, did he rail at lack of game,

     And shoot at something friendly just to vent his hunter’s spite?

No indeed, he thanked his fortune that he didn’t kill or maim,

     And enjoyed his woodland journey and was rested come the night.

Nov. 13, ‘09