All signs read,

great hunting ahead.

The rut was beginning,

in the woods I was hunting.

The deer were a moving,

they need not be hiding.

Acorns were a dropping,

many a deer came running.

Through the trees I was looking,

the big buck was caught lurking.

Wide and tall - his antlers did beam,

he is every hunters dream.

As he steps closer in tow,

I pick up my compound bow.

Twenty-three yards is all he stood,

I steadied the pin with what I could.

The arrow hits the prey,

the trophy lingers away.

Leaves stained by dark red,

the track continues ahead.

At the end of the straight,

the old stag does await.

Antlers broken - body worn,

from many years of battle torn.

He is every hunters dream.