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Spotted Fever
The Morning's long, the coffee I'll miss.
To leave my scent would be remiss.
I hike away leaving area clean.
Around a cedar I begin to lean.
When in the distance's bathing sun,
The Monarch of the Axis his day begun.
Surrounded by lessers of size and horn.
Rising to the occasion his back now warm.
I sit and steady my rifle holder.
Knees to elbows, butt to shoulder.
I peer through glass image so large.
I shake and rattle, nerves take charge.
An attempt to steady fails in vain.
Another deep breath, results the same.
A lesser buck steps in between.
The king still present, target unseen.
The moment lingers on, time stands still.
It seems like forever that is until,
Little buck turns and eases past.
The shot is clear but it must be fast.
The fever still coursing, muscles shake.
Standing broad side, shot ready to take.
Cross hairs to shoulder now a little behind.
Touch off the trigger when in the back of my mind.
Doubt creeps in was the shot true.
The Monarch trots off, a feeling of rue.
Search and look not a drop is found.
Not a hair, or meat, no splatter on the ground.
The search goes on and into the night.
A valiant effort searching but nothing in sight.
The fever turns to rage at a loss perceived
But if luck prevails, a miss was achieved.
Anxious days become a week.
The King is spotted on another peak.
A cry of joy can be heard from me.
In this Monarch lies my destiny.
I shall return when the days get long.
To sneak and prowl, to hear the song.
Spotted fever won, no immunities.
Next Fall, aspirin accompanies.
Copyright ©2000 Carl Gerard |
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