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The Hunt

My blood burns
As I begin the hunt
My prey is swift and canny
Yet I have patience

Softly, I pad through the grass
I hear the scamper of feet
My pulse quickens
My prey is near

I sniff the air
Catching the scent
Swiftly, silently I lope
The grass parts without a sound

I pounce upon my prey
Jaws closing on the neck
Blood fills my mouth
I feel the last pulse

After my feast
I lay in the sun
Awaiting the next day
The next prey.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Oct 2012

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on Oct 2012
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