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PROMISED HERITAGE "Daylight in the swamp!" I recall that welcome sound, so early in morning darkness from my bed I'd bound. To the smell of coffee perking and bacon frying in the pan. Another deer season, finally has began. Dad in the kitchen half dressed in his warm clothes, beckons of breakfast calling piercing through my nose. The women still lie sleeping so we just talk man to man. Another deer season, finally has began. "Success will come eventually it's not the killing of a deer, but patience and virtues of valued memories year to year." "Good times to be thankful for," said my father, to his son. Another deer season, finally has begun. After breakfast we donned red and black wool plaid, in the uniform of comfort we both are finally clad. Forth to land of dreams and promise, each armed with a gun. Another deer season, finally has begun. Whitetail after whitetail seemed always greeting me, southends of the northbound deer waving 'good-bye' as they'd flee. Still, majestic beauty always as each one turned to run. Another deer season, finally has begun. Time changes things but a promised heritage I'm still fond. From dad to son, from son to son there remains a common bond. From generation to generation just passed from man to man. Another deer season, finally has began. When "Daylight in the swamp" is sounded by my welcome cries, so early in morning darkness from his bed my son will rise. To the smell of coffee perking and bacon frying in the pan. Again another deer season, finally has began. |
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