Saturday, January 24, 2015


By Beatrice M. Hanson

I say I’m going hunting
As I take down my well-oiled gun
And don a scarlet cap and coat
I turn my car toward a mountain run.
But once away from eyes of man,
In the deep solitude of wood
My weapon drops by my side,
I’m not feeling like a hunter should.
The scurrying rabbits may have no fear,
Their furry coats will not be stained
By their own blood by me.
Two partridges stand close beside
The water’s edge.
A perfect shot, if their deaths be worth
The price.
Far better that I watch their flight
From fear and harm, and keep my conscience clear.
As I sit beneath a walnut tree,
And quietly smoke my pipe,
I feel all the peace and tranquility,
With none of the hunter left in me.
"Any luck" my neighbor asks me
As I drive up to my door,
I shake my head negatively-
"Not today as I carefully put
My unused gun away.