The big owl died because of crows. <br />They caught him sleeping, chased him away, <br />that lazy famous afternoon <br />half a century ago. <br /> <br />A hundred yards into the forest, <br />twenty yards to ash tree tops, <br />the young teen boy holds the gun, <br />right eye tight to the scope. <br /> <br />Did he brace against a tree? <br />Did he shake? He can't remember. <br />He did hold cross-hairs to the prize - <br />One deep breath in, one half out - <br /> <br />and squeeze! <br /> <br />A hundred yards, and one inch lower. <br />Dead on. One shot. In the throat. <br />No squirrels that day, but one big smile. <br />Dead on. Dead Great-Horned Owl. <br /> <br />(2012)<br /><br />L C Vieira<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/great-horned-owl/
