the hunt

A Poem by An Li Leung

As I dream across the plains... I hear a snarl, a desperate cry...

the grassland’s silent, the sun’s up high
the scent of spilling blood is nigh
those glistening eyes of orange-black
they stare unblinking at the track

he stoops unwary, ears pointed south
sprigs of grass in his chewing mouth
he doesn’t know when is his time
nor does he care, so long he dines

the trees have stilled, the grass’ stiffened
his time has come - blood’ll be taken

it starts with a snarl, a gasp, a crash
and then begins the roaring dash
across the flowing plains of gold
this battle between foes of old

they run and leap and jump and dive
till one falters, and falls and dies

the hunt that’s played out on these fields
reminds us only of what’s real
of the tireless need to fight
to claim dominion o’er our birthright