The Gunman on the Lake
In the silence of the dawn light,
On the banks of cold Lake Clark,
A hunter shot his rifle,
Jumping flint an orange spark,
A bullet raced across the air,
Above the water swaying,
Whistling like a kettle’s throat,
Towards the bison baying,
A cry, a gasp, a bitter moan,
Came from the yonder bank,
And down on bended knee,
The creature pitifully sank,
The gunman gladly put aside,
The steely rifle barrel,
Lowering its deadly tube,
Against his dark apparel,
His trusted dog was barking shrill,
Alarmed by the commotion,
Jumping up, to gauge his master’s,
Mindset and emotion,
They marched one hour, through the mist,
Around the shoreline bending,
Traipsing through the swaying reeds,
With mud and muck contending,
There slumped below the elm tree brown,
Collapsed into a coil,
The lifeless bison lay prostrate,
Delivered from his toil,
The steaming body, warm and soft,
The hunter’s precious plunder,
With not a sound, but the sniffing hound,
And low and distant thunder,
There and then he skinned the beast,
His sharpened blade a toiling,
The fur and pelt removed away,
And from the beast uncoiling,
He whistled to his straying dog,
To quickly heel and tarry,
As he slung the ropes around,
The hide afore to carry,
Two days they dragged the morbid prize,
Across the grassy plains,
Harbouring in rocky crags,
To dodge the sweeping rains,
And finally they found their farm,
Near wild Chinitna Bay,
Behind the lichen rocks of green,
And Sitka roses gay,
The wooden farm house billowing,
With smoke atop its stack,
As the hunter and his hound,
Came boldly marching back,
The family were abuzz with love,
And interest for the story,
The children held their father,
As a hero sent from glory,
This pelt will see us through three weeks,
Considering the price,
I bow unto the bison’s ghost,
And rue his sacrifice,
The hearth was set in blazing life,
The farmhouse cheerful warm,
As all the hopeful family,
Took slumber neath the storm…
AD Lovkis, 23/05/25
adamdaniel 