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Apr 2019
The spot you see it all.
The locus, with the right elevation.
Hidden, in the right vegetation.
Away, from any detection.

The view is strategic.
Targets unaware, roaming.
The moment is nearing.
Nothing escapes your sight,
Save for the blinking of an eye.

The rifle is set.
Scope, adjusted.
Wind bearing, calculated.
Heartbeat, decelerated.

Breath, bated.
Muzzle, pressed.
Down, goes the target. . .
Fọlábòmí Àmọó
Written by
Fọlábòmí Àmọó  24/M
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