As a man dug through his closet, clear back in the back on the floor,
Was an item that stirred his memory of a birthday many years before.
He remembered tearing at the wrappings and how a tear he had to strife,
As he quickly removed all the paper to reveal his very first rifle.
He remembered his thoughts and feelings at the sight of that first gun.
He could picture the card and message, that read, "with love to my son."
He thought of the crisp Fall mornings and the wonderful times outside.
When Dad and he went hunting, of the love, the joy, and the pride.
He remembered his years in the grades, in Fall when the weather was cool.
And how he'd grab that old rifle as soon as he came home from school.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem