Within wintery mists,
of her cold belonging,
The bear, through green
woods, softly plodding,
Wary of errant hunter
& his plot of sorry baiting,
Down to iced streams
of salmon, silver & waiting.
Stealthy moved old
wolf, in haunting moonlight,
Soft howling, deep
within the throat of midnight,
Dodging traps &
upright beasts, all with loaded guns,
Down to prairies old,
where the sacred bison runs.
Beyond rock eyries
& towards thermals in the skies,
Wings wide spread,
of talons, plumes & beady eyes,
Watching ever vigilant,
errant tracks of greedy man,
And swooping, down
deep towards the fauna´s land.
Thinking earth is his
alone, is what leads man to err,
It belongs to feather
too, claw & to each beast of fur,
Hunter then becomes
the hunted, in the fight to death,
Dying, a work in progress,
until earth breathes last breath.
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