There's an old familiar feeling
that comes at summer's end.
It comes along each year
just like a welcome friend.

Just as the leaves are changin,'
the kids are back in school,
I head on out to the forest.
It's like a golden rule.

My memories are of dreams fulfilled,
and thoughts of hunts to come.
They occupy my cluttered mind,
and not much work gets done.

I know the cure's out there somewhere.
Time in the woods I s'pose.
Don't ask, how long it takes?
For sure, God only knows.

I'll do a little huntin,'
then the feelings may subside,
but they'll all come back next year...
emotions I can't hide.

- Brent Bacon ©

Submitted March 06, 2005

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