I heard the crack through barren trees
The hunt was all but done
A barking dog, a moonlit path
Bold hunter and his son
He gathered it for trophy’s case
Son watched with widened eyes
Into the sack of burlap brown
Then closed with twining ties
But little did they know that night
There’s been one left behind
And in this forest he’s become
The last one of its kind
Though sacred ground lies frozen still
He sniffs at double tracks
And knows spring thawing shall reveal
Only one set heading back
His vapors mirror labored breath
Dark shadows caused by moon
He throws his head up to the sky
bleak cries convey his doom
He wanders careless, lost in grief
No kin for frolic play
He’ll hunt for fare by night alone
Sleep abandoned, cold, by day
You may wonder about my tale
And ask of how I know
It was my Father with the gun
With burlap bag in tow
And now these woods hold nothing dear
No marvels fill my head
I wonder how the fox survives
When all he loves is dead
I know he’s out there lost, alone
Memories now his keep
Those nights I hear him scream in pain
I cry myself to sleep
Author notes
So often I hear the gun shots where I live. So often I wonder how many are left. Is anyone keeping track?
A contest entry
- TEN THOUSAND POINTS OF RHYME (Now 20,000+) Part 8 Sad/Nostalgia by cricketjeff.
1500 points, ended January 24, 2008, 51 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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A lyrically beautiful image this paints. Deeply sad and nostalgic at the same time without hitting the more obvious subjects in this round.
After reading quite so many failed love affairs and dying parents this was a joy although the subject atter is serious and very worrying. And Amera's comment is absolutely accurate.
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Thanks for the comments!
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I love poems like this! The story is captivating and my interest grew with each stanza. The rhyme scheme lends a wonderful flow and it is a delight to read.
Love,
Amera♥
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