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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 tree

Will my seductive calling bring him to me

The sun climbs higher in the eastern sky

Still waiting for the Tom to leave the oak and fly

With a flap of his wings, Old Tom glides to the ground

Landing gracefully without making a sound

Should I call to the Tom as he struts

He is already gobbling to the hen as she putts

Old Tom closes the distance one slow step at a time

He stops, puffs up and spins on a dime

His tail feathers glow in the bright morning sun

My heart is racing will I get this done

Six ladies feed as he struts his stuff

They show no interest but he doesn’t give up

Spittin’ and drumming showing off in the sun

It is at this point I was wishing for my shotgun

With only my bow and Old Tom putting on a show

The hens decide to move on, it is time to go

The hens feed over the crest of the hill

Old Tom disappears and I still have a tag to fill

It is not every morning I see this ballet

But this is the perfect way to start my day

I’ll be back tomorrow for another chance

Maybe I will get an encore performance of the Dawn Dance


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