Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Ask The Gunwriters Apparently "poetical" is a word--or is becoming one....

Morton Meets a Moose

"I wonder," said Fred,
Who was wearing a noose,
"If I hang around long enough,
Will I see a moose?"

"Will I see a moose
That is dark brown and black?
Or a whole other colour,
Like the colour of sprack?"

“Oh, no!” said his friend,
“They’re the colour of lead.
The kind of a colour they make
When they’re dead!”

But Gerry guffawed.
And his laugh was so noisy,
That it frightened the Frews Frews,
In trees on Mt. Boise

“Mayhaps it’s the colour
Of fresh fondled figs!
Or the colour that’s made
By mixing young pigs!”

“No, no! That’s too bright!”
Cried Davy Delane,
“Most mooses are mocha
And hide under trains!”

“I thought they were whitish,
Or a soiled, choc’lit yellow…”
Said quiet young Morton,
A cast bullet fellow.

“That can’t be! That can’t be!”
Screamed young Davy Brown,
“If mooslings were yellow,
I’d have seen one in town!”

“They’re dull navy blue,
And wear dull navy hats,
To cover their topses,
From low flying bats.”

“If that was the case,
They’d be bright, glowing green.
And they’d hide near school crossings,
So they wouldn’t be seen!”

“Or maybe they’re white,
Like clouds in the sky.
So when we look up,
We’ll have sun in our eyes.”

For three hours plus two,
The friends argued and fought,
Until Morton proclaimed,
“I know what they’re not!”

And everyone turned
To hear Morton speak
As he gas checked some bullets
For his lever antique

"They’re not feckin' orange…"