Steve Olinger

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My Trophy Thanks

</> wake up early and gather my gear
> With the hopes to shoot my trophy deer.
>
> On a mission I head out the door
> With bow in hand on this still, calm, morn
>
> I pull into my spot and head down the trail
> Further and further I made it along.
>
> Shhh what¹s that? What¹s that? A deer I hear?
> A deer, a deer, a deer over there
>
> I crouch down and take a knee
> Hoping soon I can take my dream.
>
> I unload my quiver and pull up my bow
> Pulling the string as gentle as so.
>
> Trying so hard to keep it straight
> Buck fever sets in.. Oh No, Oh great.
>
> So I take a deep breath, as my heart-pounds within,
> Eyes so big and muscles that ache.
>
> Click, Whack, and then a great thump
> My arrow had hit, just after dawn.
>
> I shot my deer, I shot my deer
> He jumped, he kicked, then took off.
> But not to far, he lies over there.
>
> I walk up to find the soul I took
> Look up and say thanks to our mother above.
>
> For she allowed me to shoot,
> this great big deer and to her along with my deer
> I give my thanks.

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