In the darkness you sit waiting,
High above the forest floor.
The new day's sun will soon be rising,
And you'll be hunting once more.

You sit. You wait.
You wonder. You listen.
How the dew on the leaves
At sunrise glistens.

Deer or no,
You're happy to be
Sittin' there,
In that tree.

You're full of emotion.
You're senses are piqued.
Sometimes you can't stand it,
And barely can speak.

Your thoughts year around
Are of the woods in the fall.
To sit in a tree;
Hear a lonesome crow call.

- Brent Bacon ©

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