Little Kildare, Inc.: July 2008

These poems were written by Dick Lee: Each year, Little Kildare has it's Annual Dinner with awards and poetry session. So here goes: Now comes our annual meet, wherein we give each feat, its just and noble reward. If you can stomach our poetry, We'll consider it sufficient gratuity, For versifying is quite hard. "Hold Still, Damn You!" Intrepid soul this Hunter be With stealth and sneaky guile, Upon the deer to silently see Though it takes him several mile. With rabbits foot and gun and knife And fourteen rounds and a smile He tiptoes along to take the life Of a ten-point buck in style. And in his mind's eye sees the buck The largest of them all On buckpole hang if Lady Luck Will walk with him this fall. So, stealthily he hunts the buck, As carefully he treads the muck, 'Till now he sees the long-sought buck Raises sight and prays for luck, with fourteen rounds along with fourteen rounds along. The gun goes off; the deer takes flight, As twice he shoots again. About it turns just out of sight; Now 'leven rounds remain, Now 'leven rounds remain. Here carefully he marks the spot Where last the deer had lain, And tracks his flight from that same spot To flush him once again. Twice he curses and twice flies shots To find with mental pain The old pathetic hunter's lot An empty chamber 'gain. And now nine rounds remain, And now nine rounds remain. He fills the magazine And finds a tuft of hair, some blood on emerald green, a flag in distant air; Like thunder it rumbles Once more and again, As now the buck stumbles Into a small glen. Again the gun rumbles To touch his hind end and flips him, who tumbles To sit end in fen. Now raising his sight Heart bursting, head throbbing Adrenals squeezed tight, His wit lust now robbing The Hunter 'gain fires and creases the buck, As fate now conspires To rid him of luck. An empty chamber 'gain, As four rounds now remain, As four rounds now remain. "I'd rather eat crow then fail to kill This stubborn old foe who just won't hold still". Load up, he does, the rounds he has left No Hunter there was Whose cool so bereft. Bang! "Hold still..........Bang! Damn................Bang! You"..................Bang! CLICK! Eyeball to eyeball Glared hunter to hunted Eyeball to eyeball back the buck started More bullets were all He now ever wanted A full bandolier A long bayonet He'd harpoon the deer and get his buck yet. But ill -equipt And under-armed Frustration gripped And speechless charmed Eyeball to eyeball Glared hunter to hunted Eyeball to eyeball the buck only snorted. Across the great marsh came thrashing another Gasping twice, Marc, (pronounced Marse..i.e. Marcel) 'Twas Sim's hunting brother. For nearly a mile he's plunged in a hurry Stumbling the while Through bog and cranberry Disheveled and torn Wild gleam in his eye No wind and worn "A buck?" his wheezed cry. Replied the Hunter, Frustration crazed, "MY BUCK" with hauteur, His arm upraised; To which now Marc With careful sight To coup-de-gras This noble Buck's plight. Fired once to send A missle through The buck's hind end Both hams to chew. By this display So mortified The buck down lay and naturally died! This account, written in fun and license. However, the Committee feels there is more to it than rumor but the only amicus curiae or friend of the court, was the buck who unfortunately has been silenced. WE WILL NEVER KNOW THE TRUTH However, we feel there is enough evidence here to award the VIVA PANCHO AWARD to FRANK COOK for probably the most shots ever fired at a single deer!