The hunter waits in forest deep
Deadly quiet he must keep
His bow part drawn, his eye is keen
Waiting for his pray as yet unseen
Each puff of breeze
Rustle grass such a tease
Senses *****
Slow and silent is the trick
The doe stands in shadows dark
She gives a quiet bark
Poised and ready now to flee
From any danger she may see
One step two step she moves closer still
None can match this hunters skill
Watching down the arrow knocked
His larder needing to be stocked
Something about her gives him pause
Her belly swell is its cause
Beauty true, life unborn
His minds eye sees the unborn fawn
Compassion blooms deep within
To take both lives would be a sin
Slowly he begins to stand
The bow now slack in his hand
As quick as night
The doe takes flight

The hunter smiles his heart at peace
A rabbit caught shall be his feast...