The Hunt

Rising before the moon has gone,

The frost is still on the ground.

Dressing quietly in the darkness,

Everyone else still sleeping sound.

Slipping stealthily into the woods,

Excitement making my heart beat fast.

Climbing the tree to take my seat,

Hoping today the big buck goes past.

Listening intently to the silence,

A snapping twig, I hold my breath,

Slowly raising the rifle to my eye,

Is this the day he meets his death?

Climbing down, the sun is rising,

It was his day today, not mine.

Going home empty handed,

Already planning for the next time.