Pheasants? ? ? Poem by Lost River

I was there in that land beyond the sea
The night was the blackest....that...
It ever could be...
When guns to the left... and... then to the right...
Cut loose... with such chatter...
I came out of my hole... emptying a clip...
Shouting... what the Hell was the matter...

Then with the adrealin in my gut...
And on my back of my neck...
There stood all my hair...
Through the night...till morning...
Turned out...nothing was there

By the early morning light...
My unit started to howl...
The Great White Hunter had been shot...
Because of his late night prowl...
I thought at first he... he...looked like a
Great Horned Owl

Now... as lunch time came...
My unit and I had prepared the feast...
That white ringed neck... owl... pheasant....
We made ready...to eat...
He was surprised...that Great... White... Hunter...
That pheasant laid out...cooked...
Covered with K-Ration butter....

Forty men all had said...look lets..after we feast...
We are very tired...and we'll finally get some sleep...
But to that one...that mighty hunter....
What you shoot...you eat...
You know the rule...it's the code
That unwritten law...in your heart today...it now abodes

Well I...and thirty-eight others...
Ate K-rations...saltines...and drank water...
I can honestly say...I had in my life...No better feast...
But..Brombaugh...Well...he had pheasant... and we made sure
That he ate...every dammed little piece...


The end
Clyde Grant Bryson