The Hunter

He holds his gun
Like a long lost love
Cleaning it, down the barrel,

As he puts his eye
Up to the scope
He views it very narrow,

He runs his hand
Across the wood grain stock
And turns it on its' side,

He picks up a bullet
He opens the bolt
And deposits it inside,

He lays down low
Quiet and unseen
Like the hunter, he is in wait,

Till his prey comes in view
And unknowingly, 
By then it's way too late,

The deafening bang
In his ear
Was suddenly very loud,

And then he could smell
The fresh gunshot
In his eyes there was a smoke cloud,

He was sure
That his shot 
Was on target,

He walked to the spot 
Where he hit
And he marked it, 

Yes he is a hunter
He knows his game
So well,

And when he kills his prey
His story, 
He will tell...