Here is a memorable one from Hunter's Log:
Father's Day
i.m. Vincent Murphy
Sunset, and mallards poured down on the pond.
You shot from a low saddle in the hills,
felling them like a wizard with his wand.
Hip-deep in loon shit, I retrieved your kills.
Ten years since absolution for your sins:
six children by your bed, aged eighty-three,
your last words to the family, "Vince wins."
Today our young priest speaks a homily
on God the Father and the Son he gave
to save this sorry world. We're told to pray
for every father resting in his grave,
for each child who is fatherless today.
Tim wins.
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