Ah! the hunt!

The tightening of the tendons at the scent,

The cunning and the crafty unconcern

As, Idly sidling through the grass

All through a browsing, lazy afternoon

We`d munch the parry of distance, till at last

With a leap perhaps ( or maybe just one step)

In our grasp the invisible tether of certainty!

And then the stealth of the stalk – the stillness,

The icy incandescence of the will

Focussed implacably through fierce eyes,

Lancing laser-like the glooming green

And firing the transfixed spirit of the prey,

An ante-pastal holocaust…The thrill

Thronging through every fibre of the nerves

Before the pounce – the hurl of tautened muscle

And fasten of fang and claw in flesh –

The thudding of the heart, as in the head

The frenzied pounding of the brain subsided

And the blood drained from the eyes.

And then the cold, remote, contemptuous pity

Of the listless lacerations of the feast.