Phantom Tiger Poem by Stan Petrovich

There, quietly stalking into night
Silent as a shooting star,
Her name spelling panic and phobic
Fright, her stripes as good as fingerprints,
The back of her ears showing white eyes,
Her enemy to hypnotize.

Tiger was hunted to near extinction
Under the hands of the Brits;
Towering on the elephant phalanx,
Guns frightening many a beast;
Those men took aim and put down the bloody, mighty corpses of the magic animal.
Now tiger is beneath
No elephant and rifle,
But a new wave of compassion and cheer,
Compensated with protected territory.

But if the same old story holds sway
Men will blossom first,
And if they bludgeon again the tiger
Completely, they shall have to die
Of thirst.