the sun now high above my headnothing ventures in my path
gloss my lips and sit and wait
this terrain in which I hunt
the grey ghost hides deep within
I chamber a round waiting to see
if today I have more luck
the wind blows gales across the brush
watering eyes beneath my brim
blow my nose, and ponder fate
loving the forest's canvass hues
Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License
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