In his fur is buried there
The scent of Africa and home
Broad velvet nose skyward turned
Petitions Artemis for grace.
Please, a pride to call his own,
No more the wanderer’s ways,
A springbok in his view,
Favor for the crouching stalk
Obscured by wind-moved grass,
Blessing on the sprinting pounce
To pour sweet life into his mouth.
Finis to concrete and to bars
To cold tossed slabs of meat
To stifling meager cage,
Goddess of the hunt, grant
Once, just once, a kill

About suzanawylie

Suzana Wylie is the not-very-pseudo pseudonym of Susan Wylie Wilson, because let's face it, there are lots of Susan Wilsons around, and as an author, I want readers to find ME and not the bazillions of others. I've been writing all my life - since I learned to hold a pencil anyway - and can't NOT write. Other people have to breathe to live; I have to write.
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