As it moved gracefully through the thicket,
He aimed with undoubted precision,
Arrow flew splicing air,
But that gazelle was no way near.
It was all in his imagination
Having been a hunter for such a long
It grew on him for quite a while.
Not knowing he no longer can,
As he is now tamed like a wild game.
Eased back on the chair, hands still in form
He shot another arrow,
He heard the last sound.
It flew past the prey, missed again, he mused,
See he was accustomed to being the best,
But his memory stopped at his childhood tests.
Laid back, again and closed his eyes,
Said to himself, ‘tomorrow I will take, I will be the best’,
With that, he sighed his last sigh and went off to rest.