Clay Pigeon Shooting
A man’s sport or a lady's and it’s enjoyable
Clay Pigeon Shooting
The air is still, the fields awake,
A crisp blue sky, a perfect stake.
With steady hands, the shotgun’s raised,
A fleeting target, sharply grazed.
The clay takes flight, a whirring arc,
Like fleeting birds that leave their mark.
Eyes locked tight, the moment slows,
A pull, a blast—the pigeon goes.
Each shot a dance of skill and sound,
Echoing wide through open ground.
The crack, the shatter, a fleeting thrill,
Precision honed by patience and will.
It’s not just sport, it’s focus and grace,
A challenge set in time and space.
Clay pigeons fall, but spirits soar,
Each pull of the trigger opens the door
About the Creator
MrP
I enjoy to read a good Story. I also like Poetry
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By WILD WAYNE : The Dragon King5 days ago in Poets
Comments (1)
Sounds cool and fun, and take some serious skills it seems.