When does this wild thing show itself
When does it show its maw

Why is it that, I can not see
This thing that makes blood draw

Is it my sight with vision slight
Myopic and askew

Or is it distance and of shade
Between the pine and yew

To look and see is of the heart
To fully show its frame
And find beyond the ash and oak
A monster made to maim.

True it is, as fierce things lie
In wait of promised prey
The pound of flesh must first
Commit

And wallow in the fray