The Young Huntsman


Posted on Monday, October 5, 2020
In: Hunting Poetry
Written by: Thelma J Lougher

This cubbing morn, an August number, Many folk still steeped in slumber. The air was fresh the day was young, A swiftly rising autumn sun. The time of year when hunting men, Slip nocturnal from their den. Enthusiasm crystal clear, What a magic time of year! The morning sunlight rose and made, A golden grotto...
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