Rivulets of rain, like cold fingers on my spine,
Patter on my cover, image intensifier whines.
I carefully adjust my body, this harbinger of death,
The only signs of life that show, a wisp of frozen breath.
Three days I’ve lain in this damp hole, no target yet I’ve seen,
A harbinger of death, doing my duty for my Queen.
I try to quell my thoughts, of home and heart and wife,
As I lay here patiently, to take another man’s life.
Through many years of training, I’ve learned to be detached,
Not to consider the target, more than a photo to be matched.
Maybe, he has a family, a wife and child, like me,
But I have my orders, he must die, so others may be free.
I slowly scan the field before me, electric green in the image sight,
A harbinger of death, my target may come tonight.
People may abhor me, for what I do, and why,
My target is a ‘bomber’, and for this, he must now die.
I see movement by the cottage door, I slowly lift my gun,
Check the crosshairs in the sight, my deed may soon be done.
I hear the sounds that invade the night, a distant badger’s cough,
There’s no one there, by the door, I turn my night sight off.
The radio hisses in my ear, through the static a quiet voice sounds
From some safe post, far away, the C.O. doing his rounds.
I whisper my report, so as not to give my hide away,
A harbinger of death, I’ll come back another day.
You may not like to be conscious, that people like me exist,
A harbinger of death, laying waiting in the mist.
Who do you think protects your freedom, your liberal way of life,
I may be a deadly sniper, but I’m just the guy next door, with the
As you sleep quite safely, in your comfy family bed.,
I may be out, in that field once more, and some one may be dead