Book of Poems

The Hunters

Green leaves and

brown trees,

Grey rocks covered

with moss and mud,

Brown dirt patches and

holes covered with leaves,

Hidden traps that slay and

injure them,

Hunters roam and

stomp the nature,

Ruin the beauty and

set it ablaze,

View the pelts and

stuffed dead bodies,

Always reminded and

will never forget,

That they are gone and

will never return,

Will never see their black and

orange tails twitch with such violence,

Their paw prints on the ground and

their soft heavy head on her lap,

Or feel their noses and

tongues clean her,

With love and care,

Hoping one day and

wishing the next,

For them to return and

the hunters to leave.