The Hunter

A poem by Ellis Parker Butler

A full-fledged gun cannot endure
The trifling of an amateur;
Poor marksmanship its temper spoils
And this is why the gun recoils.

A self-respecting gun I’m sure
Delights to jar the amateur
And thinks that it is no disgrace
To kick his shoulder out of place.

Moral

When you go out to hunt, my son
Prepare to circumvent your gun
And on your shoulder firmly bind
A pillow of the largest kind.

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