When The Sun's In The East

I wrote this  as my way of thanking all those who have helped me on my way to my first turkey hunt:

                On brown barred wings they lifted in flight,

                As dawn kissed the sleeping face of night.

                Thunderous riot of feathers and calls,

                In silent decent came they all.

                Mystical birds fulfilling spring's urging,

                Strutting, gobbling, clucking and purring,

                Oblivious of the hunters awaiting,

                Too busy they are with courtship and mating.

                As if by some signal known only to them,

                Silence falls in the once noisy glen,

                No bird seen or heard, no rustle of brush ...

                Only a memory followed by a noisy hush.

                No call imploring, no trick untried ....

                Seemingly their interest suddenly has died.

                Alas and alack, tis the nature of the beast ....

                As it is the hunter's, when the sun's in the east.