The squirrels still are silent,
but won't be thus for long.
The Stellar's Jay that haunts these woods
has not revealed his song.
The hunter waits behind a log
just listening to hear
a snap, a crunch, a subtle sound
that might reveal a deer.

Something now moves off to his left,
but it's too dark to see.
Is it a deer? He doesn't know;
it certainly could be.
He doesn't shoot; he's not the kind
to fire at what's unknown.
It might be someone's cow or horse,
a person all alone.

The sky is getting lighter now;
the forest can be seen:
the aspens with their yellow leaves,
the pines in their dark green.
Squirrels now are stirring;
silent they are no more;
a raucous racket they employ
until his ears are sore.

Daylight reveals a huge bull moose,
the largest one by far
that this hunter has ever viewed;
it really has no par.
He has no license to hunt moose;
he cannot fire his gun,
can but admire this glorious beast
under the rising sun.

No venison will he harvest
on this fine autumn day.
He doesn't care; he is enthralled
by what has come his way.
Not many men will get a chance
like the one he just got
to watch this splendid animal;
those deer he just forgot.

Kim Barney

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/approaching-dawn-at-poison-hollow/