The Pack
We prowl
we howl
in fear
you scowl.
We run
at night
full moons
alight.
The taste’s
so sweet
copper-iron
you see...
Fresh flesh’s
the best
a cut above
the rest.
So tender
succulent
repast
sublime!
Ashamed
by day
ravaged
by night.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2019
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