When I Was Just a Child
As a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, and thought as a child,
As a man, I put away my childish ways, though in memories, sad all the while.
How many creatures of the world, their lives I often took, without any remorse,
So often hunted smallest ones, killed in glee, why, for the life of me, my course.
Many times I took lives of wild ones, thinking the while, was becoming a man,
Brandishing a rifle, shotgun, a bow, believing that I was part of some wild band.
A part of a culture, its customs, I so cherished, craving time spent in the wild,
Shooting wild turkey, wild deer and ducks, small doves taken, placed in a pile.
Now I'm much older, so set in my ways, of my memory so troubling, of former days,
I feel so much regret, sadness of their loss, beautiful wild ones, in my mind stays.
As a painter and creator of wildlife I once took, everyone crafted, placed in a book,
Not one to be saved, a single life taken, of my past life lived, their beauty forsaken.
I tried to recapture the lives to be lost, painted every kind, no matter the cost,
Words written in rhymes, never to pardon my crimes, as wild ones had to pay.
As the sun sets in evening's sky, watching wild geese to fly, my thoughts return,
Such beauty, winged ones portray, as sadness remains in my memory to stay.