Poetry

Thick fog outside,

 40 degrees.

Long walk to the water.

My age is starting to creep up on me,

With a heavy pack I'm feeling old.

The sky starts to lighten,

Black turns to rose.

My heart starts to beat faster, 

My energy and strength are renewed.

I see ducks in the distance, 

Starting their morning flight,

I no longer notice the deep water.

As I keep the ducks in my sight, 

Slowly I start to call.

They turn my way,

Spy my blocks,

The safety they display.

They circle once,

Then twice.

They drop their gear,

They are going to land.

What joy it brings.

Seven feet from the water,

Just before they land,

I bring my Benelli to my shoulder,

Steady it with my hands.

I squeeze the trigger slowly,

Let my steel fly.

My aim is true,

My shot is perfect,

I watch the ducks fall from the sky.