Among Elk

Up before dawn, a feeling has drawn You into the mountain and trees. Till the silence within, upon the whispering wind A chime of bugles tease the breeze. That majestic call, that is heard each fall Since before our forefathers birth And for those who take time, through rim rocks and pine Listen and value their worth. Each note high and low as each bugle ballad goes, No two ever the same They are all unique and if a chance to critique Upon our hearts they claim. We are put into state and can hardly wait For the dawn of the upcoming morn To glimpse hoof print in stride or a patch of hide Or a tip of antler horn. Just out of reach, lessons he’ll teach to those who play the game, The tension and pull of a phantom bull, a soul never to tame. While waiting and yearning, eyes straining, ears burning, Ringing till you can’t hear a thing, To early to late, can’t hardly wait, Patience like a bee sting. Like a ghost in the night they filter through site They tease and bugle and brag, As tell tale sign, weave and wind Through timber, rocks and crags Where a sapling tree, used to be Now a twig broke scarred and torn Velvet left there and shed of hair To tell the rut has been born. Strong elk scent, down wind is sent From their bedded layer They are up once again and start to transcend Letting us know they were there. A little to late can change a state Hopes almost fell, But all rise again when a bugle begins For among elk, we dwell.