The Hunt


By grace balanced above the stream
fierce fascinated men to be
gazeing into the rippled scene
toward speckled ichthyology.

A falling branch, abandoned string
their exclamations of delight
fulfilled without an injury
to speckled fins in failing light.

Until from out the diamond frame
their eyes are turned to marsh and trail
lest they be stalked if they remain
where twilights mystery may impale.

Now almost men-of-war wood-slash
so spectered shadows can’t prevail
the stream flows safely through the night
while unscarred innocence remains.


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