A solitary child really,
Shotgun under arm,
Wandering the flood plains
On Billy Bulson's farm,
Hammer uncocked,
Chamber free of charge
Enjoying the sensation
Of wandering at large.
Not shooting for pleasure
But out to fill the pot.
Today we could manage
With just what we've got,
Not getting any pleasure
From any single kill
Just hoping it was clean
And done with some skill
It's an overcast morning
Sun fighting to break through
Grass wet underfoot from
A heavy morning dew.
It's Saturday today so
I can take my pleasure
Walking these fields
Slowly at my leisure
Weapon broken barrelled
Now I'm back on the road
To ensure I'm complying with
The shooters safety code.
My next walk will be
Just a little bit harder,
Supplies are getting lower
In the family larder.
Any Weekday morning
I'd be in a bit of a rush
Racing up Church Lane
To catch my school bus,
Part of my double life that
Brings me so much joy,
Village country bumpkin and
City Grammar School boy.
