A child growing up in his fathers world

a little me
He is going to be
My son
My protege
He could be a genius too
Identical in every way

He came out of the same pod
I will dress him up in green
And give him a shot gun
It wont make him mean
A baikal single barrel
And, what he can do
Is practice on his teddy bear
And get his eye in too

Got to start off
Young these day
We live here on a farm
So he can take pot shots
At birds
How can he come to harm
I am raising him to be a man
A farmer so to say
Not some lily livered
Office waller
But a farmer all the way

And am giving him a start in life
Making him a man
Someone I can look up to
He can be a fan
I can get him shooting
Rats and crows and mice
He can his earn his keep a bit
Wouldnt that be nice

Four years old
And shooting
Today a parakeet
A flock came in to
Eat my seeds
We aimed
Yea to unseat
The buggers
One dropped brilliantly
Right out of the sky
First blood to my precious boy
Who watched his first shot die

He picked him up and carried
Him home to show his mama
A little me
He is going to be
And one hopes a shooting star.

From an e mail on facebook
A father bragging about teaching his son to shoot
And giving him a shotgun
Hell fire god almighty

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