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Poem

He knows he has to run; it’s imperative.
He sprints down a trail, 
passing tall pines on both sides.
His eyes dart everywhere around himself
as he surveys every large rock or bush
that he goes dashing past.
There is so much undergrowth.
How can he leave this path?
Yet he knows he will inevitably 
have to.

It is growing dark – too dark.
What can he do? What can he do?
He stops and allows for his ears 
to listen.
Every little sound arouses suspicion.
Before the sun drops,
he will have to leave the path,
and so he scuttles, first to the right of it,
paying close attention to places
where a person might hide.
Behind rocks, thick trunks, even bushes
where a person would be able to squat low.
He finds nothing.

He knows his pace is very fast.
He needs to switch to the other side of the path.
How did he let this happen? 
With great frustration, he hears
his heart drumming fury.
Panting, he scurries around the densest areas,
his eyes doing a sweep of every spot -
for any place where one could stoop down.

Aha, he spies it – almost invisible
behind tall weeds – a sort of cavity
in this woods of endless ground cover.
With a bound, 
he reaches it.

Immediately, he perks up his ears.
He discerns with great relief
an almost imperceptible moan.
The girl, hands still tied behind her back,
crouches in utter terror inside a shallow cave.
If she had escaped, he would have been
for the rest of his life
(figuratively speaking)
on the run.

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