Hunting in November
By Robert Hilton
In the morning
passed
the rusty barbed wire fence,
the misty fields
stand quiet.
A young pheasant bursting out of the tall grass
breaks the stillness
Colors flying
Towards wild skies.
The sun rises beyond the hill yonder
where the dew on blackberries glisten sweet.
A truck drives down old Johnson Road
leaving a faint dusty cloud behind
Carrying a hey bale in the back
A dog chases after the truck,
trailing behind barking
Slowly disappearing into the distance
it becomes quiet again.
In the morning
passed
the rusty barbed wire fence,
the misty fields
stand quiet.
A young pheasant bursting out of the tall grass
breaks the stillness
Colors flying
Towards wild skies.
The sun rises beyond the hill yonder
where the dew on blackberries glisten sweet.
A truck drives down old Johnson Road
leaving a faint dusty cloud behind
Carrying a hey bale in the back
A dog chases after the truck,
trailing behind barking
Slowly disappearing into the distance
it becomes quiet again.
I really like the image here.It has a vintage feel to it.
ReplyDeleteBut the words paint a picture too, I can see the scene he describes so clearly.
The picture you chose goes well with the poetry.
Angela is the picture a painting or a tapestry...it's lovely.
ReplyDeleteThe poem; I can just see that truck, the hay, the birds taking flight...
Poems and pictures, how they enhance our lives.
XOXOXO Wanda Mom
The picture is something I put a bid of $20.00 on at an Antique Auction. I was the final bid! It was at the end of the day. I love this picture and it actually has a name on it...Lynn Bogue Hunt. I have never heard of him. I do not know if it is worth anything more than what I paid for it.
ReplyDeleteThe poem... is what my son, Robert wrote. :)
Angela:
ReplyDeleteHow much more special now I that I realize "Rob" wrote the poem...I'm sure he has many talents I didn't know about.