Twas the night before deer season, and all through the house,
Not a creature was steering, not even a mouse.
All the bowstrings were waxed, and in the cases with care,
In hopes that deer season would soon be there.
The young hunters were nestled all snug in their bed,
With visions of Big Bucks and does in their heads.
And momma in her 'kerchief, all angry at dad,
Because of all the time spent preparing his bag.
When morning came round, coffee so warm,
All the hunters were thinking, "Is there going to be a storm?"
Watching their videos getting all pumped,
Unloading their guts by taking a dump.
Getting in their camouflage, and all their hunting stuff,
Firing up their Scent Smokers and watching them puff.
In to their vehicles and off to the woods,
Hoping they remembered everything they should.
Arriving at the hunting grounds, feeling just like Christmas morning,
Hoping they give their prey no fair warning.
Some walk to their stands and some to their blinds,
Can't wait to leave all their worries behind.
As day slowly turns from the night,
The birds wake up and begin to take flight,
They sing their songs that have sounds of beauty,
While the hunters high alert while on their call of duty.
Waiting and watching for anything that moves,
The hunters are slowly sliding into their groove.
Some will find success, and some will get skunked,
To most it doesn't matter if they get punked.
The smell of autumn, and the changing of leaves,
This is why a hunter and breathes.
For on the opening day of deer season,
To be in the woods is life's reason.
Not a creature was steering, not even a mouse.
All the bowstrings were waxed, and in the cases with care,
In hopes that deer season would soon be there.
The young hunters were nestled all snug in their bed,
With visions of Big Bucks and does in their heads.
And momma in her 'kerchief, all angry at dad,
Because of all the time spent preparing his bag.
When morning came round, coffee so warm,
All the hunters were thinking, "Is there going to be a storm?"
Watching their videos getting all pumped,
Unloading their guts by taking a dump.
Getting in their camouflage, and all their hunting stuff,
Firing up their Scent Smokers and watching them puff.
In to their vehicles and off to the woods,
Hoping they remembered everything they should.
Arriving at the hunting grounds, feeling just like Christmas morning,
Hoping they give their prey no fair warning.
Some walk to their stands and some to their blinds,
Can't wait to leave all their worries behind.
As day slowly turns from the night,
The birds wake up and begin to take flight,
They sing their songs that have sounds of beauty,
While the hunters high alert while on their call of duty.
Waiting and watching for anything that moves,
The hunters are slowly sliding into their groove.
Some will find success, and some will get skunked,
To most it doesn't matter if they get punked.
The smell of autumn, and the changing of leaves,
This is why a hunter and breathes.
For on the opening day of deer season,
To be in the woods is life's reason.
ickle:
