In The Country
Written For Granny and Grandpa
From the Family
Written For Granny and Grandpa
From the Family
A whisper in the darkness,
A tap on my shoulder,
My eyes on the clock - too early,
I try to turn back over.
The bed, soft and warm,
Made especially for me,
The nudge a little firmer this time,
I know it’s time to leave.
The December air is still,
The golf cart prepped to go,
We’re camouflaged and quiet,
Carrying guns and ammo.
Fog blankets the hillside,
The blind rests near the trees,
The door slides open louder than it should,
We crawl inside on our knees.
There’s a peace this time of morning,
Our breath before us, waiting for deer,
Even the birds are still silent,
As we open our first beer.
In the stillness we remember,
The times we’ve come before,
Not always bagging the big buck,
Most of the time we get much more.
In the country we are welcome,
Weary travelers from the cold,
There is food to eat and drink to drink,
And stories to be told.
Here, family comes together,
Just as they are without a song or dance,
You can relax and stay awhile,
We don’t care what your circumstance.
As the sun peeks behind the brush,
It paints the sky orange and gold,
The hair rises along your back,
Your gun a little firmer you hold.
You hear the rustling of the leaves,
You raise your gun, line up the sights,
The big buck you’ve been waiting all year for,
Approaches from your right.
And as you’re about to fire,
They’re mouthing the word “no,”
The monstrous buck you thought you saw
Is actually just a doe.
She emerges, shy and timid,
Behind her, two young fawns,
Spots sprinkled across tan bodies,
Coats glistening in the dawn.
Later you’ll sit down
To a cup of coffee with Grandpa,
You’ll tell of your adventure,
He’ll listen closely to the outcome.
Granny will smile
As she sets breakfast on the table,
She’ll say had it been the buck you saw,
You most certainly would’ve been able.
Life is like that sometimes,
Cold and damp like December mornings,
Through its ups and downs,
Either way you’ll have a story.
What makes life special
Isn’t the buck you wish you had,
It's the smiles on Granny and Grandpa’s faces,
When you tell them you’ll be back.
© 2010-2012 The Passion Poem - All rights reserved
A tap on my shoulder,
My eyes on the clock - too early,
I try to turn back over.
The bed, soft and warm,
Made especially for me,
The nudge a little firmer this time,
I know it’s time to leave.
The December air is still,
The golf cart prepped to go,
We’re camouflaged and quiet,
Carrying guns and ammo.
Fog blankets the hillside,
The blind rests near the trees,
The door slides open louder than it should,
We crawl inside on our knees.
There’s a peace this time of morning,
Our breath before us, waiting for deer,
Even the birds are still silent,
As we open our first beer.
In the stillness we remember,
The times we’ve come before,
Not always bagging the big buck,
Most of the time we get much more.
In the country we are welcome,
Weary travelers from the cold,
There is food to eat and drink to drink,
And stories to be told.
Here, family comes together,
Just as they are without a song or dance,
You can relax and stay awhile,
We don’t care what your circumstance.
As the sun peeks behind the brush,
It paints the sky orange and gold,
The hair rises along your back,
Your gun a little firmer you hold.
You hear the rustling of the leaves,
You raise your gun, line up the sights,
The big buck you’ve been waiting all year for,
Approaches from your right.
And as you’re about to fire,
They’re mouthing the word “no,”
The monstrous buck you thought you saw
Is actually just a doe.
She emerges, shy and timid,
Behind her, two young fawns,
Spots sprinkled across tan bodies,
Coats glistening in the dawn.
Later you’ll sit down
To a cup of coffee with Grandpa,
You’ll tell of your adventure,
He’ll listen closely to the outcome.
Granny will smile
As she sets breakfast on the table,
She’ll say had it been the buck you saw,
You most certainly would’ve been able.
Life is like that sometimes,
Cold and damp like December mornings,
Through its ups and downs,
Either way you’ll have a story.
What makes life special
Isn’t the buck you wish you had,
It's the smiles on Granny and Grandpa’s faces,
When you tell them you’ll be back.
© 2010-2012 The Passion Poem - All rights reserved