Wise doe

Drawn on
Over ridge, through valley.
Callen on
Through thorn and bog.

After quarry, rarely seen
Young hunter, ever keen;
To prove his worth
To slay the beast

Pressing silence
Raging noise
Birds singing
Rivers flowing

Footsteps ever so soft
.303 held aloft
My body's aching
Hands are shaking

A wise old doe, stands alone
How does she know...
Deafingin roar
Nothing to show

In a hidden glade
I'll meet her again
to take her life
Our story made

Reviews

[Brenden Taylor]

Ooh...kind of chilling toward the end. Love it.