The Buck

The light is fading, no mistake
Between the oaken woods and lake.
It's time to finish with the row
And homeward bound, the trail to take.

With rake in hand I turn to go
To retrieve my pick axe and the hoe,
When from the trail there ran a buck
And right behind him came two doe.

At first I thought, Oh what luck!
I'm here, my rifle's in the truck,
And as he stopped to look my way
He gave his tail a flip and tuck.

Then he turned and bounced away
The doe behind him, sleek and grey.
Crashing through the brush and vine
Into the woods and welcomed shade.

He must have sported twenty tine!
I thought as Shadow starts to whine,
Asking, should he give him chase?
I pat his head in soft decline.

The sun is gone upon my face
To lose the buck is no disgrace,
Although today I've been undone
There'll be another time and place.

Today the buck has rightly won
The hunters gone, the season done.
Perhaps we'll meet again next year
Before the season's had it's run...

The buck was ancient, and I fear
He may not see another year,
But then, another year is seldom clear
For man, or dog, or antlered deer.

Tim I. Brumley