O, You Duck Hunt.

I love the gentle rains of spring -
The robin's song.
How sweet the smell of waking earth;
The days grow long.

I love the meadow lark's refrain,
I rural ways;
Greeting the time of nature's birth,
And balmier days.

I love the open marsh and slough -
The mallard's call;
Then fix the hunting outfit up,
We had last fall.

I love to join the boys, and go
To lake or stream,
Where birds are thick and shooting good,
Ah what a dream,

I love to find an ideal spot,
Then build my blind;
Then leave the world with all it's cares,
Far, far behind.

I love to watch the wavelets dance
'Round my decoys,
And note the "chances taken by
The other boys.

I love to sit within my blind,
And smoke my pipe;
Sometimes a nip of Yellowstone,
that's good and ripe.

I love to try my marksmanship
On some big goose;
Take chances on a long, hard shot,
And jar him loose.

I love to see the teal dash in,
Like cannon balls;
For each barrel of my hammerless
A green wing falls.

I love the campfire's ruddy glow -
The grub we chew;
When Piper He'dseick's passed around,
I love that too.

I love to feel my heart beat in
Each finger tip.
As campfire stories help promote
Good fellowship.

I love to write these little rhymes
Sometimes, don't you?
Here comes a bunch of redheads - quick
Binb-b'ng! Adieu.
- Ray E. Love