UNTITLED POEM WRITTEN BY Alton " PETE " Galloup
We are not the first to walk these paths
And we are never quite alone
For hundreds of our grandfathers
Have also called this home.
They lived in caves and hollows
In tents of skins and bark
Log cabins or most anything
To keep out the cold and the dark.
Some carried clubs and spears
And others lance and bow
Later came the muzzle loader
But with all of this I know.
They carried them with pride and skill
And not to just kill the game
But to be out in GOD'S handiwork
Is the reason that they came.
Oh sure, they had to eat and
GOD gave us game for food
Just part of a master plan
To be used by those that could.
They took their game with dignity
And thanked their maker for it all
For food and clothes and shelter
They wasted none at all.
So when you are walking along some forest trail
With your gun and dog or friend
Take time to think about it
Then your worries you will mend.
Our grandfathers are still with us
For those whose eyes are clear
Their steps fall lightly with us
For those with ears to hear.
Be humble when you are hunting
Be respectful of the land
Thank the great spirit for it all
Cause our grandfathers are near at hand.