The Last Drake Poem by Manager Poet

The bride of my youth produced this fine needlework.
But alas, this vestige of a dead marriage I must no longer shirk.
From my youth I hunted ducks each and every season.
As my grandfather taught me, I too would have the same reason.

A wonderful tradition held by many in this great land.
A father teaching his son to hunt was to be my only plan.
After the children came, responsibilities began to shift.
There wasn’t much time to hunt any more if you get my drift.

As the boys grew, I only heard of how dangerous guns can be.
“They will not hunt, ” she said while staring directly at me.
But as time passed, I was able to take them at last.
Yet when we’d return, the toll I paid was vast.

I’ve given my guns and equipment to my boys as a last resort.
Now, I stand ruined in what is referred as to “Family Court.”
I still have many fond memories as a boy of duck hunts you see.
Memories, though few, of hunts with my sons abide in me.

As I rebuild my life, I will one day find another wife.
“The Last Drake” only remains as a reminder of strife.
As you bid, consider this too could happen to you.
Choose wisely my son is all any of us can do.