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The Hunt
The leaves crunch in the distance
The bushes shake as he slowly appears
Into the clearing he warily steps
10 points on his head
My heart pounds
My bow raises
A arrow in place
Waiting
Waiting
Sight in place
Waiting
100 yards
Sweet salty sweat on my lips and forehead
Strong sure hands
He Steps into place...
Wrong move on his part
I let go
Whistling wind as my arrow flies
His head comes up
To late
A soft thud
Gone
White flashes in the air
More leaves crunch
Twigs snap
He stumbles
He's down
He's mine
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This article has 4 comments.
I absolutely love this poem. I am also a hunter, gun hunter, but I feel the same way when November 15th rolls around (:
<3
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