Deer Hunting Time by Lorraine Pratt (Randy Rowley’s grandmother)


When the male folk get together

And polish up their guns; When they’re buying bright red clothing

And plannin’ on some fun.

You know there’s something brewin,

And they needn’t tell us why, –

Deer huntin’ time is here again –

You can see it in their eye.

You have to get the fever;

It is catching, so they say,

And when you do, – it’s just no use, –

You’re doomed to stay that way.

You may think it is an easy task

To get yourself a “buck,”

But though you’re a perfect marksman, You just have to trust to luck.

They know each favorite “run-way,”

And follow every track

While they become so worn and weary,

They hardly can get back.

Some of the fellows make a “drive”

To get the deer to runnin’

While another “stands” alone and waits

Till he sees a buck a comin’ .

And though they miss a “perfect shot”

When a “buck” comes into view,

They’ll never get discouraged,

Though it makes them “pretty blue.”

When at last the season closes,

Even though they get no “buck,”

They all agree it’s the grandest sport,

And next year better luck.

Adams, Wisconsin.  November 1947

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