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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #1991032
a poem about the hunted
The Hunted

Darkness, be my friend.
Hide me from prying eyes.
No moon or stars to guide their way.
Just shadows to hide their prize.

They search for footprints to lead them on,
And a scent must guide their search.
Darkness, give them nothing to light upon.
A living pelt has little worth.

They say the search is all they really need.
Then why are we tacked to the wall?
How many antlers can one man need?
They’re not for decor after all.

It may not be the weekend.
Not even a Friday night.
But there are fools who run with guns.
There’s never been a fair fight.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1991032