half blind insistence
to hunt
the old man escorted
by his son
Silhouette glimmer
black dot moving
is that a buck on the
horizon
the son confirms
yes father
the shot cuts through
the dry sky
the blot flattens and
the son says
you got him well done
later the afternoon
Abel bury
the once able bodied farm hand
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem