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Late last night and dangerously close to deadline (I seriously doubt I'd write anything if weekly deadlines didn't exist.), I decided to challenge myself to re-learn some of what I promptly forgot years ago about tercet stanzas, quatrains, and all other legitimate forms of poetry.

I'm fairly certain that this poem's topic is the only thing keeping it from meeting its justified end at the editor's desk. Also, there's a very good chance that the construction of this poem is not correct. I hope it is, but I could be wrong. In any event, I'd like to sincerely apologize to all of the legitimate poets out there.

Endeavor to deceive

Within the waning shade fall red and yellow leaves,

Forest floor speckled in diffused and dappled light;

Mottled, dusky quarry endeavors to deceive.

In the wind young aspens creak, let go their quaking leaves,

Fall, flutter and tap like whispers off bough and twig;

Mottled, dusky quarry quietly endeavors to deceive.

Boots stop to draw a panicked flush from dry, crackling leaves,

On checkered walnut, leather-clad hands flex and wait;

Mottled, dusky quarry endeavors to deceive.

The staccato beat of wings, hunter jumps, from its lair a bird leaps,

Cool wood meets cheek as flying prey darts and weaves;

Keen eyes track its zigzag flight as a shot rings in the eve,

Mottled, dusky quarry noisily fails to deceive.

Dan Brown's weekly outdoor column is brought to you by Frankie's Bait and Marine, in Chisago City, and St. Croix Outdoors, in St. Croix Falls, Wis.

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