You know when we were hunting
being quiet as the grave,
you and I were grunting
while moving plants in our way.
Then you heard something
not too far away
a deer? a moose? running
in this spot, we decided to stay.
We heard the same noise,
we caught a glimpse of the antlers,
You stood there poised,
Still as a steel rafter
Bow in hand
you ‘nocked the arrow,
the string, you grabbed
the noiselessness caused the moose to bolt.
You were crushed
quickly stolen of hope,
taken away into the brush
It was time I showed you the ropes...
...In the beginning you are lost
stripped of your bearings
your stomach full of frost
until your trip seems beyond repairing
Then that little sound
the spark of hope
Tramping down the ground
Erasing your previous mope
You chase that spark
until it turns into a flame
that lights up the dark
and shows the prize to claim.
Standing there
your docile dream
now your burden to bare
And for that you beam
You are extra careful now
taking one arrow of nine
You gently grip your bow
pull back string and let fly
The arrow finds its mark
you run at your kill
its blazing flame turning dark
but you get there still
The trip was hard and grueling
but you found what you were looking for
and showed who was ruling
and held life by the horns.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem