Lumbering slowly through the woods
urged on by a sound so foreign and alien
all other sounds are serene by comparison
fostering feelings of apprehension
All alone in the woods now
last of the kind
Only sounds of shotguns on the mind
premonitions, so pace quickens
could be men are hunting more
or maybe find what the search is for
Either way, no longer feeling alone
searching to make complete
from the feeling of the soul searing
this is the end of the long sleep
Coming closer to the sound
what is lost, closer found
and if now to die, standing on two feet
not living on two knees
Behind an old tree is destiny
turning the corner what to see
but a single cub beside broken leaves
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