by Bud Gordon

An old worn collar is hung reverently on a nail
next to a favorite whistle and call,

tough dry eyes cloud over during conversation
and weep when there is no one to see.

Memories of cold duck blinds, driving rain, and hours in the field training
are kept in a special place where they will never tarnish or fade,

as shed hair is sadly swept from a favorite spot by the door
I promise never to lose the shed hair on my heart.

**********

Copyright © 1997 Bud Gordon
Reprinted by permission. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

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Last modified: 1-1-2000

Nate Sarbin <nate@sarbin.com>