While doing some file cleaning, I ran across this poem that I wrote for my neice and her husband. My sister has 2 daughters, and they are both beautiful girls. Lori is in grad school and Tara lives here and is married. She married a guy who is MR. Outdoor Life. He has her fishing and hunting and such. Well, when the family heard that she was going deer hunting with him…we were quick to voice our opinions. At least, I was. Now, I have an aversion to deliberatly causing harm or pain…let alone death…to any creature. But, I also know that that sentiment is not shared by everyone. Sweet Will, her husband has been most understanding of my vocalizations about his lifestyle. He assures me that all the deer they kill are used for food. Which really does nothing to ease my feelings…not as long as there is a Winn-Dixie in the near vicinity. But, I digress. The fact is…he took her deer hunting…complete with her head to toe camoflage outfit and gun. No…she did NOT look cute. I have always thought she and I were very much kindred spirits….BUT..she liked it! And not only that, she killed a deer! And then did the whole blood ritual ….and they made a PICTURE…and delighted in showing me. :0
So, I wrote this for them:

This is the story of terror and fear
That happens when hunters named Tara are near.

Deer Mommy always said, “Stay close by my side
When Tara comes around…there’s no place to hide.”

But I did not listen, my heart would not stay.
I just lost all my senses when sweet Will came my way.

My Papa would tell me “Those boys are no good…”
But, I’d forget his warning when Will entered our woods.

His face looked so kind that it was difficult to see
That fierce female warrior crouched in the tree.

But behind him she was, just waiting her chance
To turn my demise into her victory dance.

Sweet Will could not stop her, though I’m sure he tried
When Tara gets the scent…it’s “Bambi…Bye-Bye”.

She stood…then she shot…then jumped to her feet,
“Will, oh sweet Will, I’ve shot us some meat!”

Now what is left of me is hanging at your place.
My meat’s in your freezer…my blood’s on your face.

My story will be told in woods far and near:

P.S….they still speak to me, too.