Homeric Simile

As when his son, a pensive animal lover,
on his first hunt,
had to face the doe in his scope,
his first kill lined up for the taking,
breath held firmly before trigger plunge,
the forest circling, fear trembling his lips, 
doe moving from view, gaze,
his father behind, a looming granite mountain 
crushing him
like an avalanche of scold that he could not,
despite his determination,
could really climb from,
his finger unwilling to pull the trigger,
even with his father 
tugging his arm in death’s directions 
as the miss hit sap and freed doe 
from their sight.

so facing his death
the father gripped the old bedsheets,
trigger fingers cocked
and son did not dare 
slap his hands 
away.