Sitting still
Careful not to make a move
Then a small movement catches my eye
I slowly pull up my gun
Pulling it to rest on my shoulder
I look through the scope and see my target
Taking a deep breath
I steady myself
Pulling the hammer back
I pull the trigger
Seeing a pile of black smoke
I look to see my target falling
The blood of life leaving it
A small smile leaves my face
My deer is down and dead
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem