Cold Hunter.

The cold wind blows around icy trees,

Snow falls on icy frost.

The hunter drops down to his knees,

One rabbits’ life is lost.

Blood seeps steaming on the ground,

The hunter bags his kill.

He’s stealthy, searching all around

For his next easy thrill.

He spies a deer out near the wood,

A young buck standing proud,

He’d take a pot shot if he could

But the shot would be too loud.

So he creeps around in silence,

For “the enemy” to track.

He is so intent on violence, 

And is keen to fill his sack.

The hunter picks his weapon,

And he silently takes aim

It is his soul intention

To kill and not just maim.

The bullets fly without a care

If they deal a final blow,

And the deer it feels a rush of air

Then collapses in the snow.

The hunter dashes to his prize

And hoists it on his back,

But the sheer weight of his preys demise

Gives him a heart attack.

His legs feel made of jelly

And his arms they feel like lead,

And with a huge pain in his belly

The hunter falls down dead.

Silence falls across the land,

No more a gunshot crack,

Just a body of a former man,

A dead deer on his back.

So listen well and you may catch,

Creatures safe and out of danger,

Telling how man met his match

When killing Mother Nature.