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

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