His eyes glisten as oil on canvas.
White lid flickers in between.
Twas red sometimes…
Ole boy’s now hunting.
—
Green blades, will, sway
o’er ferocious hill.
Hush my prey, be still.
This one, staring, roams day or night.
—
Thick silver shields white chill.
Paws mark his steps…
Can you see him;
Touch, breathe, know his way’s ?
—
The way’s of the coyote.
The path’s of the fox.
—
His home is mountainous terrain.
Don’t drain the blood from his vein.
Leave him be…he’s one to be free…
—
With mother nature by his side.
Nature balanced within
her grasp…
Alas, he is alive…
alive – alive
(echo – echo)
—
Can anyone help me;
can anyone help me ?
Can anyone hear me ?
As the cull continues…
some mark their way’s
to help this one stay his course…
through mother’s earth.
(clipart photo)
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