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A poem of just enjoying nature as I hunt while not hunting at all.


Submitted:Nov 21, 2012    Reads: 7    Comments: 1    Likes: 2   


White mushrooms grow

       on a fallen tree.

Dead leaves crunch

     beneath boots.

With bow in hand,

     I sit patient.

Waiting.

   One day a deer

will come by.

 





2

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