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Sep 2011
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.

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?
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