This Poem was Submitted By: Tom Atterberry On Date: 2000-04-08 14:33:37 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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A Ritual From Childhood.

Snow upon the red clay ground Dad was there looking around for that buck through persimmon forests and pine scented air this time we would be stuck a doe crossed our path in flight from up higher an illegal hunters, misdirected gunfire the chill factor to fourty  below the night was calling,  and the moon began it's glow It was time to make our way off of this hillside last day of the season a bruise to daddy's pride but I did not care for this ritual did nothing for me good news for the deer another year he is free. TEA BV 2000

Copyright © April 2000 Tom Atterberry


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