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Eyes closed I'm on the edge of sleep
as cold rain beats a tinny sound
here within my cabin's keep
naught but darkness all around.

This cold rain brings the autumn's end
and hints at winter yet to come
whose start is just around the bend
with nose and fingers both grown numb.

Forecasters say this rain will stop
before the black of night turns day.
Then I'll be sitting on a hill top
awaiting elusive prey.

Supposedly for a buck deer,
indeed I'll have my old deer gun
just in case a big buck should come near
whose antlers reflect the morning sun.

But this night no trophy fills my mind
just memories of shared hunts with friends
all of whom left me behind
as they reached their own hunts' ends.

So I'll sit there in the dawn
while ghosts of the past fill the air.
My real prey already gone.
One day I'll join it over there.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


You always write with deep thought especially when you write about missing people you have loved. A beautifully penned poem.
Happy new year to you and Susan. XX

Thank you...Teddy

Well, maybe an inch deep lol. Thanks for the visit and may 2021 be better than 2020

author comment

Always so much time to do that up in the stand. Nice to see this, i always enjoy the poems about Hunting or wildlife experiences.

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Yes. When younger the hunt was the main thing. But with age comes the realization that time to think in solitude often is a stronger motivation.

author comment

Great poem with striking, reflective imagery, as well as a narrative form. Your rhyming is perfect and so is the spacing. I have to say that I hate the idea of hunting, I'd never join in.
I like the memories, some sad, some a little less so. I certainly live on with many memories, the best are of my childhood on the farm and then going to uni.
Enjoyed a lot. Happy New Year, with love, peace and happiness, Gracy

"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

Yeah a lot of people don't hunt and that's OK by me. Just as long as they don't think they have some right to keep others from doing so.Hope hope you have a great coming year.

author comment

your real prey is the youthfulness that has somehow escaped from your sights? At least that is the perception I have. Of course sometimes we have to stretch a tiny bit to make the rhyme. I do think that "I got it." As always, you brought me with you to that place in the woods where we encounter our younger selves, accompanied by our long-gone hunting partners. ~ Gee.

Announcing the new chatroom! I will be hosting a chatroom on Saturday nights
from 8pm until 9pm [EST] this coming Saturday. Stop in and
shoot the breeze with the Geez. Our Chatroom is open 24/7

I must really be getting old. For the first time in many years I sat at home and watched a hard rain instead of bidding deer season farewell from a private stand. As always thanks for dropping by

author comment

I love this poem so much, especially your last stanza! As others have said, the idea of youthfulness escaping was portrayed in a fantastic manner, articulately and enthralling. Amazing job.

"The true alchemists do not turn lead into gold; they turn the world into words." -William H. Gass

Welcome to neopoet. Appreciate your kind words

author comment
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