Death In The Long Grass

Watching the sun sink and waiting for time to pass,

We prepare for darkness and possible death in the long grass;

Moving slowly, one step and then two,

we lay in position waiting for what to do;

Both playing a deadly game,

Always different but always the same;

Our weapons up and pointed outboard,

All silently praying for noise we can ill afford;

We follow with weapons as they silently file past,

Do we let them pass or will there be death this night in the long grass;

Within inches they walk looking for their foe,

Stopping briefly, eyes scanning the long grass before continuing under their heavy load,

Seeing naught they move on and vanish into the rising mist as ghosts;

Not dying this night is what they too desire most,

In the blink of an eye they are gone as wraiths past;

And as we step out onto the trail to leave,

There will be no death this night in the long grass.