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.
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