his eyes mine line
this face for what
worth is forward
blood and sweat spent
i fire two shots
he falls down slow
graceful to fault
whats left i know
the carcuss has fuel
we must move on
meat to bait winter
thrust to trudge on
2
her spirt is vapour
these lines we walk ancient
these stones set in situ
exactly as always
Jamie Dewyer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-jackal/
