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January 08, 2009


Enjoy! This one got a second place in 1996.

The Resurgence of Homer Burdette

High in the north where the wind blows hard

And the land stretches out to the sea

Lives Homer Burdette, a trapper by trade,

And his wonderful dog named Brie.

The cabin that rests on the shores of Trout Lake

Each log stacked, weathered and worn

Became home to a man, his traps and his pan,

His oath, be it true, he had sworn.

To live off the land with his hands and a gun

Walking trap-line, with pride every day

Though at night in his bed, there danced in his head

A notion that wouldn't quite play.

For that the fish that he fished, must be smarter than he

For he had never managed to catch it.

With line sturdy strung, he had never begun

To come close to the bait that would fetch it.

So one cold winter's day, as he sat by the fire

Eyes sparkling so wide with delight.

He vowed he would auger a hole in the water

And ice fish that fish at first light.

Now people had said that concealed by his bed

Stood a crock of spirits well brewed.

So braced for the cold, this man that was old,

Drank till his sensible senses were stewed.

At the crack of dawn, Homer rose from his sleep

And staggered weakly seeking the door.

Tripped on a trap, hit his head on a tap,

Crashing headlong to repose on the floor.

Now Homer not daunted, for the spirit he flaunted

Helped him rise to his feet and walk rightly.

Grabbing auger and pole, and stink bait from bowl,

Stepped into the sun that shone brightly.

Sliding this way and that, and holding his hat,

Homer found the spot so intended.

Cut a hole in the ice, that looked really nice,

And proceeded to sink cut bait that extended

From the end of his line, so sleek and so fine,

Twisting and turning it sank.

Than bang came the hit, pulling line through his mitt,

And with mighty strong arms he did yank.

The fish from the hole did fly in the air,

As Burdette fell back in the snow.

That wonder dog Brie, stood right at his knee,

Fish lodged in his jaws he did glow.

When Homer smelled foul air that came from behind

Neither he nor Brie had expended.

T'was the smell of a bear, that had escaped from his lair,

His winter sleep now slightly suspended.

With a snort and a grunt the bear thrust its paw

To reach for the prize winning trout.

Homer buoyed by the booze, hit the bear on the snooze

Smacking him hard on the snout.

Now they say in a pinch, that Homer would flinch

And draw a small gun from his boot.

For the drunker he drank, the dark rum that so stank,

Gave Homer the courage to shoot.

The bear took a swipe at Homer's round dome,

Leaving five bloody lines in a row.

Homer reached for his pistol, but it flew like a missile

Dropping harshly, now lost in the snow.

The bear snatched the lunker from Brie's canine jaw

And held the treasure quite high.

Homer spat a huge spit and proceeded to hit

The great grizzly bear right in the eye.

Now blinded by rage, the bear could not see

That the gun was recovered by Brie.

Homer shot from the hip, and the bear he did hit,

In the chest and he fell like a tree.

Now people do say that what happened that day

Is really quite a strange mystery.

For Homer came back with a new bearskin cap

And a legend of the North's history.

So if you are high in the North where the wind blows hard

And the land stretches out to the sea.

Look for a man in a cap, who carries a trap,

And a dog who answers to Brie.

He'll show you his head and tell his bold tale

Of that I can certainly vouch.

That the scars that are there right under his hair

Speak the truth for those who may doubt.