Paraphrased from "A Hunters
shooter aimed at two pigeons launched
traps before his gun.
were stopped in their rapid flight
in the name of fun.
male bird lay at the field's edge
just before he died,
faintly called to his wounded mate
she dragged herself to his side.
bent her head and cooed to him
a way distressed and wild,
her one and only mate
a mother would a child.
covering him with her shattered wing
gasping with failing breath,
laid her head against his breast,
feeble moan... then death.
story is true, though crudely told:
was like the man in this case.
stood in a crowd of other sick souls
the hot tears burned my face.
buried the birds in the killing field
in my hunting shirt,
I vowed to repent for my horrible deeds
I crossed the expanse of dirt.
will call me a right poor sport
scoff at the thing I did.
that day something broke in my heart
shoot again? God forbid!
(c) D.L. Roth 3/22/99
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