1971
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
Birds Do It
His rifle loaded, aimed to kill Bullet poised for prey. Hands are shaking, head is down. Disregard to what commandments say, This man shoots his first game today. The bushes rustling, green leaves drop Enemy sneaks near. Hands still shaking, head snaps up, He sight's the enemy's drooling lear. He's ready, he has nothing to fear. His rifle pointed at a head Seems to wait to die. Hands stop shaking, lever pressed. Enemy laughts as bullet probes the sky, Then he collapses with a piercing cry. His rifle hanging by his side Bullet found its prey. Hands are shaking, head is down. Disregard to what commandments sayt This one shot has first man today..