#11
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War Poem
A Sniper's Tale Š By Captain Adam J. Gravseth My belly presses the dirt Prone, I am still As sand covers me head to toe. Desolate barren road, Tiny grains swirling are blinding. Still my scope searches for my foe. A white pick up truck A man scrambles to set his trap. Right on time, just as I was told. His eyes appear over a scarf. A father perhaps, definitely one's son To me he has no soul. One last breath of life, He jerks violently around And left in an awkward fold. The convoy follows By taking one life I have a hundred to show. |