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My Time

What better than the company of an old and wise friend?

As we walk through the fields to the old woodland end.

Searching for game, he still moves with pace, 

His passion for hunting is seen in his face.

The ears do not work quite as well as before,

A perfect excuse that he uses to ignore!

He knows all the rules but by now he knows better, 

He checks in with me though (or maybe the Beretta!) 

The sights and the sounds on a crisp, frosty morning, 

The noise of the songbirds, such beauty in their calling.

He suddenly freezes, nose to the air.

As still as a statue, such a moment to share!

Tis woodcock, not pheasant - she bursts for the sky, 

Her beauty always touches me, and so we watch her fly. 

Onward now, our bag yet to be filled,

Toes are frozen, my fingers are chilled.

The next point a hen bird, I watch through the trees, 

The only movement, frosty breath in the breeze.

On this occasion, our luck has aligned,

He has a retrieve, my favourite - a blind. 

I stand and I watch him, he searches the ground.

The pleasure it brings me, the right words are not found. 

So home we now head, our supper in the bag.

A warm fire to rest beside, sweet dreams to be had.  

MissT, 2020



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