Vixen
It could not feel the vixen's stare,
The rabbit grazing, unaware.
It could not see her crouching form,
No movement there to forewarn.
Tensed muscle, ready, rapt.
A blur, a squeal, a neck snapped.
The limp rabbit, bleeding, dead.
There are cubs waiting to be fed.
Copyright © Gary Smith | Year Posted 2016
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