Hunters Glory Natures Sigh

The colours in the darkness have faded to grey The searing white hot sun has bleached throughout the day The skull and the spine that pierces through the hide Of the buffalo that hunters have deemed the time to die. The maggot’s presence shows that the vultures have deserted Time marches past, even when the flesh to dust has reverted Far away, the trophy horns to boastings have been tied So the Sky with a roar showers the rain, to cover up her mournful cry.