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Briscoe Canal Birding

A Poem by Carl Gerard

Briscoe Canal Birding

Sitting in the dawn so rare.
Focused on the now sans a care.
Listening to wings against the dawn sky.
Quiet pierced by the haunting cry.
Wood ducks pass behind.
How many in flock I cannot divine.
Sooners make it passed remaining free.
Waiting, vale lifted and lights the tree.

The dawn breaks through and the game is on.
Decoys bob, I blow my song.
Mallards, Woodies, Pintail, Teal,
Hens and Drakes, the senses reel.
Spotted a far, they circle round.
Guns at the ready, faces down.
Wings a cupped their coming in.
This is where the fun begins.

Patience, still, steady now.
Heart racing, nervous and how.
Waiting for the action call.
Praying feathers soon will fall.
Hoping aim not forsaken.
Guns go up shots are taken.
Few splash down, most fly away.
We bow our heads in thanks we pray.
The dog responds my good friend fetches.
Tireless, loyal our praise he catches.

Time to pick up and carry out.
This is what it's all about.

Copyright 2000 Carl Gerard
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