Those times we ran the trails and chased the hare,
and flushed the quail like tiny zooming jets,
are now long gone but memories linger there:
The kind an old man never quite forgets.

We swam the river after ducks we shot;
the icy waters made my whole self numb;
A chill within my bones not yet forgot,
and Dad would build a fire to warm us some.

We shot a deer once far out in the trees,
and had to drag it home for many miles;
the effort worth it all for those we'd please:
I still remember both our Dads' proud smiles.

Now years have passed since last a hunt we took,
and words to tell them all I cannot find,
but if so they would surely fill a book,
each memory burns forever in my mind.