The Civet Poem by Gert Strydom
The Civet
The civet melts into the bush,
into the undergrowth,
the yellow-brown grass
has got a yellowish-tan with black spots
and it does sneak past,
using the stars as its compass on its raid
and silently creeps, even crawls
and does canvass the terrain,
to find its prey.
© Gert Strydom
Thursday, November 2, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: nature
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5/6/2024 1:02:11 AM # 1.0.0.1119
