The Stag

The handsome stag stands in the wooded glen
He gets the sent of the hunting men
He knows it's time to leave this place
He sets off slowly - then quickens his pace
He moves gracefully through the trees
Jumping over obstacles with great ease
His heart is beating with a thud
As his hooves pound the wet mud
He senses the danger in the air
His fear mounts with every scare
Now he swiftly runs away
To try and live for one more day
The echoing gun shot rings out
The hunter is pleased - and has no doubt
As the stag stops in piercing pain
Unable to run on again
He falls to the ground - his muscles a quiver
His body comes to rest beside a river
Now that this beautifull creature is dead
The hunter wants to mount his head
To be able to boast and to brag
About the day he killed the stag
I suppose I'm just one of the few
I dont call this sport -do you?

by Teresa Hyslop

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