A little late but here it is......

This poem will probably give me away, but i dont really care. The picture I wrote about was a picture of my dad, brother, and I and when I first started to write about it, I didn't really know what to write about, but then everything just came to me. I wish I could write more about times that it has just been my dad, brother, and I.

Flying Feathers

We come here a lot during the year,
It’s chilly but not unbearable.
We all wear orange so we are easily picked out through the trees and brush.
The English Setters run around sniffing
The owner whistles for the dogs not letting them get to far away.
They smell something
They point, tail straight, back straight,
Not moving an inch as if they were .
They wait for their next command.
Then suddenly there’s a sound, in unison, almost like heavy artillery.
The smell of smoke dances around us as the dogs race to retrieve the pheasant.
The somewhat prideful owner rewards his dogs with a pat,
And a promised biscuit when they return home.
A day of fun, joy, and memories is over,
We smile and remember,
And wait for another day like this to come