
Dawn Dance
Spring Pennsylvania morning crisp and clear Sitting patiently in a blind listening with an ear Was that a putt, a purr, or gobble A light breeze passes and makes my decoys wobble Bright flares of orange fire consume the East I am set up where the hens choose to feast The silence is broken by the fly down call Still, Tom is tight-lipped and saying nothing at all Hens hit the ground and begin my way The Old Tom speaks and he has much to say I see him struttin’ in the old oak tr