The Woman and Her Rifle
Her long, flowing, black hair
sways in the autumn breeze
silence speaks, she is silent
a lonely bullet lays in the chamber
her hands rest gingerly on the guard
her fingers snuggle the trigger
The leaves blow, the poppies bloom
and the grass stands still....
her eyes gaze and wonder....
the enemy is in her cross-hair
silent speaks....
The bullet whispers to the wind....
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