A Hunter's Poem A hunter shot at a flock of geese That flew within his reach. Two were stopped in their rapid flight And fell on the sandy beach. The male bird lay at the water's edge And just before he died He faintly called to his wounded mate And she dragged herself to his side. She bent her head and crooned to him In a way distressed and wild Caressing her one and only mate As a mother would a child. Then covering him with her broken wing And gasping with failing breath She laid her head against his breast A feeble honk... then death. This story is true though crudely told, I was the man in this case. I stood knee deep in snow and cold And the hot tears burned my face. I buried the birds in the sand where they lay Wrapped in my hunting coat And I threw my gun and belt in the bay When I crossed in the open boat. Hunters will call me a right poor sport And scoff at the thing I did. But that day something broke in my heart And shoot again? God forbid! Lemuel T. Ward P-L-E-A-S-E! ONLY YOU AND I CAN STOP THE ABUSE! Don't Go Breaking My Heart Join The NRA "The Right Of The People To Keep and Bear Arms, Shall Not Be infringed."