The hunters gather with ammunition, guns and gear ready to wait,
As the golden sun peaks out as the dawn is about to break,
For with him, are his children eager to learn their father’s ways
Much like Indian fathers of years from yesterday.
They clothe themselves in camouflage as they finally leave,
So much excitement beating within their hearts, to believe
The bright orange dots Kansas prairies and plains,
Walking the fields, once home to Kansas grain.
Suddenly, a fluttering and soon a pheasant takes flight
And the hunters rush as they see the bird in sight.
The rumble of gunfire resounds and echoes all about
As the bird falls to the ground, beautiful, no doubt.
Throughout the day, their children have learned so much,
They too are hunters from a father’s gentle touch.