Tiger's Hunt
The tiger traces, through it's jungle home,
His prey he chases, just then, the crackle of bone.
Sleekly stalking, through shadow of tree,
His prey just skulking, oblivious, carefree.
Nostrils twitching, green eyes shining,
Pupils dilating and paw's barbs refining.
Lips pulled back, canines showing,
It's the Tiger's tact, saliva flowing.
Such a wonderful creature, watched in awe,
Marvelous features, a strong, crushing jaw.
Watching his hunting in divinest anguish and rapturous pain,
In this death we should not languish, the creature that was slain.
I suppose that's just nature, the way of the world,
Just stay form the Tiger's abature, lest his claws would be unfurled.
Copyright ©
Ian Roulston
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