The time has come, the season is right,
I did not get any sleep last night.
Alone in the dark, I sit with my thoughts,
Hoping all my effort will not be for naught.
Im sitting in a tree, just waiting for a sound to draw near.
Be it a crack, a snap, the crunch of a leaf,
Just let it be a deer, for goodness grief.
I sit and wait for first light you see,
To shoot the deer that comes nearest to me.
Be it a buck or a doe I don't really care
I've found no recipe for antlers to bear
It finally getting lighter,
the morning sun is rising, it's kissing the day,
As the Journey man would say,
It's final judgement for Bambi, will he live or die by me,
I'll look thru my scope, and it depends what I'll see
It it's big and brown, it will go down,
If I think its small, my finger will stall,
And another day it will see.
But sooner or later, the storm will come
There will be a sound of thunder, and a rain of lead,
sooner or later a deer will be dead.
It's opening day of gun season in the southern zone. Be safe and good luck everyone.
Kb
