The Hunt

Perched upon a shaded stone, The lad patiently waits. A solemn breeze, a swampy stench, Dead set he concentrates. Pupils scan both near and far, For movement or a sound. His sweaty palm fiercely grips, The weapon dangling down. Dragonflies provoke his calm, Sweat droplets fall like tears. Mosquitoes feed upon his brow, The lad persists sincere. A blackbird squawks, while crickets sing, Beavers gnaw a log. Caterpillars deeply sleep, Clouds billow along. Two peering eyes lock on the lad, While inching toward the stone, Tiny puffs of dry clay dirt, Proof they're not alone. A thunderous croak jolts the lad, He pivots to the left. Falls to the ground with saucer eyes, A heavy heaving chest. Fumbling to try and stand, He's cold-cocked 'bout the chin. Brought to his knees he can't believe, A KILLER AMPHIBIAN!!!