The Terrible, Terrible Game
As the terrible, terrible game began,
The creature of the forest to run he began.
It all began with a twang of my arrow,
Which fell upon this frightened young buck.
As he tripped and stumbled through the weeds,
Being mortally wounded he began to lose speed.
The arrow was stuck, lanced in his side,
My heart filled with joy being near to my prize.
As I floated through the forest, soundlessly like fog,
I heard nothing but the croaking from large young frogs.
The whisper of willows sounded soft and calm;
No sight of Gods' creature was to be seen or heard.
Dark drifting near gave way to the sounds of death,
As I walked nearer the sound of an animal loosing it' s breath.
Eyes burning brightly, slowly I stalked seeking my prey,
Cold as ice, his eyes were frosted,
Eyes seeking eyes, they locked for one final time.
I let loose on my weapon, another twang through the air,
This arrow found it' s death mark, his misery and pain will end here.
Another long and fruitful year will pass once more,
Before we begin the terrible, terrible game again.
This was a ballad I wrote for an english class in High School. My first Whitetail with a bow was a terible and wonderful moment as teenager, because my rifle hunts had always led me to a kill. But when I came upon this buck, he screamed in fear on the ground until I shot him again. It' s a part of the hunt a young kid is never prepared for if he really cares for the hunt. The whole thing lasted from shot to kill lasted 2 mins. But it felt like an eternity.