Beware, beasts never kill for joy
The guiles of spiders are designed to fetch
Life-support prey seldom of an own kind.
If wild cats hunt, it’s only food to find--
What ye call beasts, in heart hate never hatch,
Nor in hostility the hunted catch
And only kill to fill a hungry maw
In a highly held un-writ wildlife law:
Slay to survive or get slain if no match,
Knowing not else but do just as designed,
Unlike O men hunting’s thy pass-time game,
A trophy wall-mounted in flashy frame,
Purblind, heedless, ye alone hunt own kind
Thus, crowning thee as lord of death in shame
Ye write a tale of thy blood-be-soaked name.
______________________________
Musings | 08.11.2012/revised July 2026 | beast, kill, joy, men, wild, Sonnet
Note: And I am tempted to add two more sonnet endings:
To call it sport that goes to fetch thy end
In slaying lives on whom thine own depend.
Till one day Earth twirls inverted thy claim,
And he who thought him hunter turneth game.
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