Ode to Flatwater
There's a place that I know
where the wingshooters go;
a place where your scores don't matter.
Where fellowship reigns
and proudly proclaims
the gathering known as Flatwater.
The gentlemen who attend
are an interesting blend
of occupations and physical features.
There are gun-writers and lawyers,
salesmen and ex-soldiers,
Canadians and other odd creatures!
With shotguns in hand,
they proceed, in small bands,
to break clays and shoot with prowess.
With raucous replies
as the targets sail by
unscathed, like so many flowers.
You must shoot others guns;
being brought there for fun.
To borrow is part of the game.
Shooting Dicksons and Woodwards,
Remmies,Winchesters, and Marlins;
every action and bore knowing fame.
The Clan of the Shotgun unwinds
in the evening of grilled steaks and fine wines,
having hammered the clays into dust.
They discuss expectations
over exquisite libations;
satisfying their sporting lust!
As it draws to a close,
the shooters suppose
that next year the presentations will be harder.
Seeing friendships renewed
and new ones accrued,
reluctantly, they leave Flatwater.
I couldn't sleep thinking about it.
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- Posts: 654
- Joined: Thu Aug 30, 2007 6:08 am
I couldn't sleep thinking about it.
The joys of shooting a 16 bore are only realized when you do it.
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- Joined: Wed Jul 25, 2007 1:36 pm
- Location: Lincoln, NE