The Hunter

Of man and beast and nature's pride,
There is no place its prey can hide.

Of night scopes made by man's design,
No hunter's lens is quite so fine.

No stealthy native's step or stride
Can match his gentle walk and glide.

No patient man can wait so long
In nature's world where they belong.

It's not the large or brutish beast
Who could secure his common feast.

Through quickness, guile, and patient wait;
No prey escapes his paws of fate.

And no one would or could now say,
What prey he might put on display,

In mounted form, in this my den;
The only place he's gentle in.

And this is where you knew he'd be
Sitting here right next to me.

While I caress his wondrous fur,
And hear again his loving purr.

GREENWOLFE 1962