The old veteran sat in his chair,
Thinking of a woman of long ago.
Battle with her, he would not dare,
Scarred from war, he is not her foe.
The moon arching into a full wane,
As the new lunar approaches soon.
The calvary he fought in, not by vain,
Upon waking, came the call of a loon.
Upon the pond beside his cabin a fog,
Rising into the morning stream of light.
His land wakens to the howl of his dog,
Chasing away all the creatures of night.
Hobbling on one leg, grabbing his coat,
Gear in hand, getting in his fishing boat.
