…and all youse guys who bother to bother with me.
(My faults are my own and my virtues are your fault!)
Tree
Uncle Paul played the hunter each Christmas
Out among the frozen hills, his gun in hand,
“It takes more than blood-thirst to hunt, I guess,”
He’d say. “You have to know what’s on your land.”
He’d come back, a bird in bag and listless
To tell his tale. He’d fumble words in his head,
Then begin: “Today was miraculous…”
He’d wander around the land of the dead
With light snow from last night as the world’s pall.
He’d hear a crow sing for mercy on the ridge,
Bleak as rust. And in a pear tree he’d find his soul.
Like Saul’s David, he chased that partridge.
“That pear tree always drops me bitter fruit,
Yet each year it offers me a bird to shoot.”
Fitting. Thanks.
People should hunt their own land. For example, I could bag a few slugs.
I could probably bring down a couple of chickens.
Nicely turned, JOB. Us Cratlicks know about that partridge…
One bad pear spoils the whole damn bunch.
Good one, thanks and Merry Christmas to ye, JOB.
I could eat crow in the front yard and squirrel in the back.
Happy Christmas.
Merry Christmas Anon.