| The Hunt |
| We all wake before the sun, With victory on our minds. We grab our weapons of death, And head for the field. Quitely we enter the pasture, Trying not to give up our location. Everyones here for their own reason; Some for survival, Others for trophies. Me, I'm here in persuite of respect, Respect of my father. For one kill would make him so proud. We walk and walk hoping for a "cubby" Or even a single "Red-Headed Long Tail." Finally one appears in sight, Perfect for me to kill alone. I raise the barrel of my tool of carnage, And take aim of my target. Yet I'm hesitant to pull. A sound fills my ears, And the creature falls motionless. I couldn't have, I didn't. I open the chamber, To reveal an empty shell. There is an embrace, Of an arm around my neck. "Good job son." Yet I don't feel the same. |