'Here he comes right on time, ' the poacher says pointing his gun. 'Oh it does my heart wonders to take the young.'
The cub reaches the bait pile set out and with a clear shot now the poacher clicks off his safety
'On the count of three: One... Two... Three! '
BOOOOOOM!
The cub takes off running into the woods as the poacher drops his gun and clasps his hands around his side to stop the bleedinh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem