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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