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Sep 2018
Hanging on the wall, next to my bed post,
A friend of the forest looks surprised, most.
Oh dear, she did not hear the gunshot near,
Nor tree nor hill nor her fawn shed a tear.

Over there, the finest hair of the hare,
Cute and fluffy hopping into my stew.
It's seat is sweet and hard to beat I swear,
Though his hide is gamey and tough to chew.

A sow, a cow is how I eat for now,
I feast on the beasts with the finest meats.
Fresh flesh on my breath, fresh blood on my brow,
Slaughtered, like their daughters; fair market treats.

I feel nothing for these creatures I hunt.
Would you rather feast on the yeast they shunt?
Jack L Martin
Written by
Jack L Martin  47/M/Somewhere Else
(47/M/Somewhere Else)   
2.2k
 
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