Dust, and the sweat as it runs down his back.
The sun glaring down and draining his strength.
The target is there, he strains to keep track.
Checking wind, and the distance, its’ true length.
Settled in he waits, breathing steadily,
The moment is close, but timing is key.
The target knows naught, strolling so freely,
Never a chance, nor a hope for a plea.
The time now is up, the moment is here.
A crack and a jolt, and then a dull thud.
Her pale face, sad and blank but for one tear.
Life that just was, is now covered in blood.
Does he see? Does he know? That dark pain?
The blood that soaks only washed by deep rain.