Poem -

The Hunter's Moon

The Hunter's Moon

                                      The hunter's lot, the lonely night,

                                       The darkened, heavy skies.

                              For life or death, the hunt begins,

                              Remorseful, anguished cries.

                 Kill he must, or be himself;

                        Hunted dusk 'til dawn.

                                       An ancient field, a killing floor,

                                       The hours crawl 'til morn.

                              Lace the shoes and draw the sword,

               A legacy is hewn.

                               He asks but one of favours owed,

                                    Arise: the hunter's moon.

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