The male lay at water's edge
and just before he died
He faintly called to his wounded mate
and she dragged herself to his side

She bent her head and crooned to him
in a way distressed and wild
Caressing her one and only mate
as a mother would a child

Then covering him with her broken wing
and gasping with failing breath
She laid her head against his chest
a feeble cry...then death

This story is true though crudely told
I was the man in this case
I stood knee deep in snow and cold
while hot tears burned my face

I buried them in the sand where they lay
wrapped in my hunting coat
And threw my gun into the bay
as I crossed in the open boat

Some will call me a poor sport
and scoff at the thing I did
But that day something broke in my heart
and shoot again? God forbid !!

Lemuel T. Ward