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Pastimes : Let's Talk About Our Feelings!!! -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Grainne who wrote (90076)	11/29/2004 9:16:33 PM
From: ManyMoose	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 108807

Thank you. I love poetry too. I started loving it when I read Paul Croy's work. Here is a poem from his book "Old Blazes." He's dead now, I think. He was 80 when I met him, about 25 years ago. I had loved his poems for 25 years before that. That makes me ten years old at the time. Fellowship I saw a surly teamster skidding logs and chewing snuff, He smelled of sweat and bunkhouse beds and spoke a language foul and rough. I wondered as he wolfed his lunch, "Can men like this one dream?" And then I saw him save some crusts and feed them to his team. I saw a work-aged farmer living days too short for rest, But he mowed around the places where the larks had built their nests. These men who work against the earth and live by what it brings, Have learned the kindest code of life is loving other living things. 1947

To: Grainne who wrote (90076)	11/29/2004 9:30:56 PM
From: ManyMoose	Respond to of 108807

Here is another poem from "Old Blazes." To a Dead Deer Numberless ages of instinct direct your seasonal life, It leads you to lower sheltered slopes ahead of the winter storms; It cautions your fawns to hug the earth where the doe has hidden them, And it taught you to circle the wind on me and double your followed tracks. The heritage of the wilderness showed in your frightened stance, And the grace of a hundred thousand years was loosed when you leaped to flight. I shot as you rose in a graceful arch to clear a fallen tree, And you jerked to the shock, and faltered a step, but held to your running stride. The love of a freedom of centuries beat in your shattered heart. Till your lungs were choked with a bloody froth and you died on your staggering feet, I followed the red-sprayed tracks that led to your slack-limbed lissome form, But the thrill of the hunter that coursed my veins was stilled by the deeper thought, That a man will take a thousand lives as glorious as your own, Before he gains the fuller truth of the brotherhood of life. 1947 Paul Croy wrote me a year or so after I visited him. He said, "I fear this year may be my last hunt. There are tears in my eyes as I write." Paul Croy knew the fuller truth of the brotherhood of life, and much of what I believe came from him.