Last few practices and all on the range,
Archers loosing bolts with the truest of aim.
For two seasons arrows have been sent,
Towards targets of foam, hay, and hemp.
Now time's upon us to see,
If nerves are tuned to a t.
When buck from game cam makes his way,
Into range for a shot that must not stray.
If aim is steady and true,
And fate gives an unobstructed view.
A trophy one might collect,
Before the late season sunset.
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