Ellis Parker Butler (Эллис Паркер Батлер)
The Hunter
A full-fledged gun cannot endure The trifling of an amateur; Poor marksmanship its temper spoils And this is why the gun recoils. A self-respecting gun I’m sure Delights to jar the amateur And thinks that it is no disgrace To kick his shoulder out of place. Moral When you go out to hunt, my son Prepare to circumvent your gun And on your shoulder firmly bind A pillow of the largest kind.
Ellis Parker Butler’s other poems:
891
