THE COON HUNTER

Another winter day is done, the stars shine clear and bright. Excitement fills the hunter's soul with the coming of the night.

He'll don his boots and hunting coat, get his rifle and his light. Then call his faithful long eared hounds and step out in the night.

He'll stroll through forest, cold and bleak, cold winds will sting and bite. He knows each small nocturnal sound within the circle of his light.

A compass nestles in his coat, a trail might go astray. And mid the dense dark underbrush there's no sign to show the way.

No man has ever owned the wealth or seen such paradise, as the wooded hills and winding streams seen through the hunter's eyes.

No instrument has e'er been made and none will e'rr be found, that will make the clear sweet music of a big deep-throated hound.

The night wears on, the game is bagged. He calls the big hounds in. He'll take them to the kennel Until...........it's time to go again.

John L. Gwaltney

COON HUNTERS PRAYER

I'd like to ask a favor, Lord, when my last long trail is run I'd like to spend some time with You when my life down here is done.

I've tripped on fences in the dark And I've waded mud and sand, Been scratched by every briar and thorn that's known to mortal man.

I've broke through ice on frigid nights and dried by an open flame, I've been so cold and shivered so I couldn't call my name.

I've fed old dogs that wouldn't hunt, had hounds that treed and lied; Had some that rather run a deer than tree a raccoon hide.

Now, Lord, if You could just see fit, I'd feel forever blessed if you just had a cubby-hole where an old hunter could sit and rest.

John L. Gwaltney