What remnants of some rustic,
Rural soul remains in me,
That I,
Poet,
Lover of gentility,
Life and beauty,
And love itself,
Am stirred by steel,
Honed and handled...
By wood or horn,
Swept with urge to take up
My knife,
Black powder rifle,
And be off...
Into the woods to be
Outdoorsman of old,
Mountain man in hide and fur,
At home in low forest,
High meadow,
Beneath the hot sun,
Frigid in ice and snow,
Glorying in the deadly power
Of blade and gun,
And himself?
Donovan Baldwin
When I'm in the wild undeveloped natural places I feel the draw of the outdoorsman in me.