Only past the midnight hour do her eyes twinkle.
Moonbeams for Sunrays,
Starlights in the zenith of her amphitheatre,
Lighting every soft step on her lush, green carpet.
Tentative those first few soft steps
For! What if they should discern her entrance?
Then there'd be no grande finale
Just an empty starlight void.
No, better that she caress those soft paws
Licking quietness into every crevice.
Nought to beat the art of surprise,
There's too much hunger in her this night.
Motionless stance! Crouch.Edge the gnats distance,
Not even the wind detects her presence.
In her divine grace she silently passes
Invisible to all but the moonlight.
None to welcome the Huntress.
In one giant leap for her kind,
The show is over, all to go home bar one.
She is the final curtain.

by Warren Atherton

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