I hear the crunch of a branch snapping like a twig,

Something was moving through the brush.

The way it moved it had to be big,

I feel my blood start to rush.

I didn’t have a gun,

I had a compact bow.

When bullets fly the hears it and goes on the run,

Patiently I wait for whatever it is to show.

I had already stung an arrow from my quiver,

I hear another branch break.

It was cold this morning but I didn’t shiver,

I visualize myself eating an elk steak.

A small rustle next to me and I remember I’m not alone,

We were hunting down by the creek,

I remember when I picked up the phone.

My dad wanted to hunt with me this entire week.

An elk with that size of rack had to be luck,

Releasing an arrow I heard a soft, “twang.”

The animal sprints away flinging up muck,

The arrow had done the job, without a bang.