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Project Gutenberg Australia HomeReturn to Index of Poems
Once again I am stealthily wading thro’ water o’er waist deep and cool,
Towards supernatant long reeds that are shading a legion of ducks in the pool,
Where often in game seasons past I have crept on the birds unaware,
When the twin-barrelled breechloader cast its contents into many a pair.
Soon I step from the water, all dripping, and walk on the bed of the spires
That is bending beneath me and slipping, tho’ strong as a network of wires,
And I hear the soft whisper-like quacking, and cheery the flutter of wings
As the plaited dead rushes are crackling, and th’ island from end to end swings.
Yet onward I’m creeping and stealing, till close to the miniature lake,
When, low in the “razor-blades” kneeling, the swimming dense masses I rake,
The flapping of pinions that follows resembles a cataract roar,
While beneath, in the crystal-like hollow, nine beauties lay dead near the shore.
They are safe, and I leave them there lying, while quick I reload and take sight
At a few that come over me flying, and two more are stopped in their flight.
Yet another towards the dread pool whistles from vapours that curl to the sky,
And the breechloader spits out its missiles and shatters the wings as they fly.
Those seasons are gone when the pinions went flighting in clouds over-head,
And what is left is merely for minions who ripple the pool with their lead;
But often I dream of that morning, and hear the loud echoes that rolled
When I waded this water at dawning and bagged a fine dozen all told.
Edward S. Sorenson, Casino
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