The Hunter

The Hunter

Quietly, stealthily, 'neath the growth,
Creeps the master of the hunt.
Gently, softly, does he move,
Ne'er a whisper shows his presence.

Black and grey is his coat,
Blending in with bark and shadow.
Eyes near closed to hide the gleam,
Of sensual pleasure in the hunt.

Close to ground his body weaves,
Sinuous, slithering,
No grass blade waves,
No prey can see this master here.

His ears do flicker as he sees,
A bird upon the lawn,
A Blue Jay doth trespass
Upon this Master's hunting grounds.

Slowly, quietly, softly, he creeps,
Upon this unsuspecting villain.
A paw swift raised brought crashing down,
Upon the unwary bird's rear end.

With a squawk and a flurry,
The bird takes off in fright and hurry.
Be warned my friend,
You did trespass upon this hunter's playing ground.

He will not harm you,
He will not kill,
This master of the hunt,
Merely loves the chase.