Sonnet 7 For Debbie's Crown of Sonnets

I must build a shelter, to fight off the cold. A rugged fortress lest poachers return – My bloody blazer, now, filthy fivefold! I am shivering cold; fire won’t burn. I stealthily creep seeking higher ground. With every fear a worn mind can churn, I crawl beneath some trees; more wood is found. Two bundles, brushwood: birch twigs, logs, to burn. I build a warm blaze upon the bare earth. Then, cook up some vittles: vermin and fern. While feeding my hunger, I loosen my girth. Then, see a mineshaft; my hope starts to yearn. Distantly hidden, completely unmanned. Through the north woods I come, my bow in hand.