A fearful submissive creature
stares up at its captor with anxiety and admiration.

His ivory skin glistens like the first dews of spring,
His eyes are prudent and observant,
full of thought, but absent of any sign of compassion,
His hands neither taking nor giving.

As the ugly creature looks up at its captor,
aggrieved that it was not the hunter’s target,
he did not even want to capture it,
if anything, he probably regrets it.
All the poor creature can do is fear and pray,
fear that the hunter will set it loose again, never to meet again
and praying that he might be a kind master
to his pitiful but loving creature.

Perhaps even offer… kindness?

Will he listen to its stuttering words,
desperately trying to convey a desire for approval?
Will he willingly accept its dishonored form?
Its long disheveled hair?
its uneven skin?
its hideous and shameful body?
Will he sympathize with its silence,
its fear of rejection?

Regardless, its wishes to know what its master
thinks of it.
Does he disapprove of it?
Does he disdain it?
Does he merely not care about it?
Please show compassion, Dear Hunter,
it loves you.
It only wants to know whether or not
you care about it.