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Stripes of Night
With claws like daggers, sharp and keen,
the tiger moves a silent machine.
Its strength unmatched, a force of might,
a hunter born in the fading light.
With senses keen, it hears the faintest sound,
a whisper of wind on the parched ground.
A burst of speed, a blur of orange fire,
the tiger strikes, fulfilling its desire.
Copyright ©
Lisa Sanders
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