The cold metal on the frosty woolen glove,
The feel any man would love,
For he is holding a gun,
And, this is the one.
The wood grips soft on the skin,
With careful aim, the bullet will win,
Concentration is all it takes,
For a sound so loud, all the Earth shakes.
Relax, breathe, and don’t anticipate,
For you, too, will soon participate,
In the sport we hold so dear,
To deliver us from fear.
Gently squeeze now, but do not jerk,
And now, the target shall not lurk,
For the slug had met its enemy,
And the shot rang out so heavenly.
The slide locks back, and the magazine drops,
And your buddy next to you gives you ‘props,’
As you smile, you load the lead,
And from the magazine, the rounds are fed.
Shots ring out for hours more,
So much you forget what you’re shooting for,
Then you recall the happiness inside,
As you load the magazine and rack the slide.
Oh, no! Just eight rounds left,
And you’re arms ache from the pistol’s heft,
Yet you line the sights and continue to squeeze,
And shoot the targets that you please.
You’re out of ammo now,
And you wonder just how,
This can be so much fun,
But now it’s time to run.
To go home and eat and sleep,
But since you are out of ammo, you must also weep.

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People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.
-George Orwell

Well, I don't care much for poems, but you got all the elements of good marksmanship in there. Take that from someone who placed 6th in state competition.

PS..I like it.

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Gun control is not about guns; it's about control.

PC=Public Cancer....and it's TERMINAL..IMO.