Sunday, 7 September 2014

The hunt

Oblivious of the world around
The long legged heron,
Strutting slowly the river bed
So intent on catching any prey
Within reach of its sharp beak,
Has not seen the quiet intensity
Of the immobile master hunter
That is the cat over fed
It does not need to hunt
It can wait at pleasure,
On the creek bank
Sunning itself in the warmth
Of a late winter ray,
The ideal prey venturing
Inadvertently in its domain
The passerby that I am
Do not seem to disturb 
The impeding drama
Of the dog making its mind 
To go after the bird or the cat. 

Lucette C. Bailliet 
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