Tree stand high, temperature low
this hunt has never been so cold.
     This mighty forest bare no more than two souls,
     Destined for one another, someday? Much hope.

Much hope.

Tree stand high, temperature low
the hunter starts to grow.
     Becoming one with this mighty forest, oblivion melts
     like the snow on the pines. Peace.

Tranquility.

"the game is one of great trophies, to boast, to play."

Oblivion is bliss, and the hunter grows humble.

Tree stand high, high, high above the pines, temperature ever so luke.
Gray skies become orange, as the sun breaks through.
     the hunter puts down his gun, deciding to break tradition.
     The longing for the trophy melts like the ice on the creek.

This mighy forest is beautiful. Tranquil. Peace in silence.
The hunter climbs from the highest stand in the trees.
     Stumps, moss, grass and mud.
     Is the hunt more than a game? But one of true love?

Peace.

The hunter stays quite, at the foot of the tree.
True love became more than a silly trophy.