GROUSE ELEGY
Our royal bird, the Ruffed Grouse
Called "Partridge" by some, in-lieu,
Hunted, coveted by many,
Secured by only few.
He's the "king" of all the upland-game,
This chap don't take too light,
Or you'll not take him at all
Before he's lost to flight.
Just a flash in underbrush,
Too quick to bring gun to bear.
A head protruding from behind a tree,
You never know he's there!
The thrill I find is in the searching.
(As it is with most things in this world)
But he lets you walk on-past him,
Then gone, before you've whirled.
One late, fall day twelve gauge at-port
I roamed for many-a-mile
To find a grouse for Wifey's pot,
Eliciting her smile.
I checked his old, familiar haunts,
My feet, sore-to-the-bone.
Much sign like dusting-spots I found,
But he was not at home.
Spit! Peninsula! Extending out,
Into the lake I spy.
Can it be that Mr. Grouse
Has picked this place to hide?
Stealthily, I make my way along its crown
Until I'm one-pace from the end.
But my firearm is silent.
This luck(?) I cannot comprehend!
Morose, the cool wind chills my kidneys:
My bladder fills to-burst.
Supper calls me on my way
But now "First things first!"
Two "guns" in-hand, I stand there
When "WHOOSH!" beneath my feet.
Surprise! It echoes from my lips.
(But that I had better delete?)
My weapon fights to zero-in
On that streaking bird. Oh brother!
While throwing one gun shoulder-high,
I'm still clinging to the other!
Pain, agony wreaks my being;
I writhe in much regret.
Ruff,' mad, chirps from yonder shore.
(He's only gotten wet)
Like little boy with errant zipper,
Frustration makes it worse.
Wifey's pot will not be filled,
I begin to fume and curse
Well, I've never offered advice much,
But this you shouldn't shun!
If you are ever hunting Mr. Grouse,
Please! Use only one gun!
From: Tales of the Trap-Line
By: Glen E. Smith AKA Ed
Free Forum Hosting
Important Announcement
First 
