Fur is white
Like the snow
In which it hides
By crouching low.
Fur is dark
Like summer’s ground.
It stalks its prey
Without a sound.
As the rabbit
Eats green grass,
Up it sneaks
As smooth as glass.
A silent pounce,
Barely a fight.
Now it has
A meal tonight.
Such vicious beauty
Has a price.
A hunter takes aim
As it eats mice.
Unaware
Of another being,
It doesn’t hear
The birds stop singing.
The hunter steps
But breaks a stick.
It looks around;
The tension’s thick.
The hunter smiles.
He’s about to shoot.
Now it sees
The hunter’s boot.
It turns to run
Away from danger,
Away from death
Brought by this stranger.
A shot rings out,
An undecided fate.
Did he hit his target?
Or did he shoot too late?