I seek them on the bracken slopes
I seek them ever with high hopes
Their sign, their smell, their spore I find
But nary a stag nor even a hind.
I know they’re there the trail is hot
I know they’re near but I see them not.
The smallest sound of movement will
as I watch provide that thrill
of seeing but unseen I spy
A hind and fawn tip toeing by.
A snort behind me and I see
The master stag is watching me.
I stand and ponder and I find
I'm not that keen to end his time.
The joy I get from hunting still
surpasses all the need to kill.
For I will treasure what I've seen
And wonder yet what might have been
If I had taken that trophy head
Just to hang it on a shed
Mountain stream oh! Mountain stream.
Tell me; tell me; where you’ve been.
What you’ve seen, and what you’ve heard.
And I will whisper, not a word.
You have heard the songbird’s chorus.
Dimmer now than yesterday.
Voices, voices in the ripples.
But I know not what they say.
You have known the mount in winter,
Known its steely icy grip.
Felt the rain and sleet and snow.
Tell me tell me what you know.
Of mountains high and rivers deep,
Of waterfalls and canyons steep.
Of natures calm and fury sweep,
Through mountain storms,
When no man sleeps.
I see the wonder and the beauty,
As ever onwards you do go.
But what you say we’ll never know.
As onwards to the sea you flow
ODE TO THE AGING HUNTERS
Up the Lewis Pass we travel
With plans and dreams and marvel
At the mountains yet to conquer
And see the streams that wander
down valleys we might never know, and ponder
views of nature’s splendor
Where deer find rest and birds do nest
In forests clean and pure.
Where waterfalls in hidden glens
Tell us that there is an end
To the journeys of our mountain men.
We thought the day would never come,
When these adventures would be done.
But alas tis true for me and you
We can't always do, the things we do
For the mountains are higher.
and the rivers colder than the ones
that we once knew
And the road up the Lewis that we traveled on
Even the bends we once knew are gone.
They tell us its progress, well if they must.
But for me I even miss the dust
of a road that was an adventure to travel,
that tested the grit of man and muscle.
But the mountains remain, and the bush is the same
God knew we needed a haven.
May you honor and protect it, enjoy and respect it
This Land God made just for you.
T H E M A T A G O U R I B U S H
He stands to greet the morning.
Drooped in lichen, frozen stiff.
There stands no friend beside him.
Save others of his kind.
For few can stand the rigours,
Of this unforgiving clime.
He’ll leave his mark upon you,
If you dare to push on through.
This stubborn mountain warrior,
Has seen off more than you.
He’ll fight you in the valley,
And he’ll fight you on the hill,
While beauty’s not his strong point
But stand his ground he will.
If perseverance and courage were
exemplified in one,
Then few could match the claims of
this mountain prickly one.
Down in the swamp as day is breaking.
The bittern booms a mournful drone
And sees the ducks come winging home
A skylark rises to the morning sun
To tell us that the days begun
And old man hare goes ambling by
Ignoring the hawk that flies on high
The magpies make a fearful clamour
While the swamp hen shouts in similar manner
The honking of the Canadian geese
Seems to call a return to peace
But it’s a very busy time of day
Down at the swamp at break of day.