Hunter

 

 

 

God, with infinite wisdom,

And an eye to the needs of man,

Has buried peace in patches

Throughout the forest land.

 

Far from the halls of commerce,

Far from the strident call,

I go in the guise of the hunter,

But not to hunt at all.

 

I go for the red of the sunset;

The gold of the coming dawn.

I go for the flight of the eagle;

The mincing step of the fawn.

 

For a while I become a part

Of the stillness of the glen.

I join with Nature's children

And leave the world of men.

 

I learn old Bob White"s secrets,

See the mallard's graceful flight,

I own the bobcat's graceful stalk,

And share the rabbit's fright.

 

But I am not worthy of my bond.

To primal urge I yield,

And bring the scent of useless death,

To wood and glen and field.

 

Yet I return to favored haunts

To sup at Nature's feast.

I look with ill feigned innocence

On every woodland beast.

 

For I am man, endowed by God,

Capable of all cupidity.

I am Keeper of God's land,

And Creator of stupidity.

 

 

 

 

 

© Charles Turrentine 2000