In France, where a creek gently flows,
A hunter ventures to a place he knows.
With his wife ahead, beating the brush,
She making the hidden pheasant flush.
With muzzle raised, he's poised for flight,
As she flushes a pheasant into the sky.
He fires his twelve-gauge into the sky,
Knocking the bird before it soars too high.
Back at home, a fire...
Continue reading...