The Hunt Poem by Lavigne Kin

The night was dark, but bright,
as the stars were out to glare.
The dark land of the grasses,
was alight with a new flare.
Victory was for the powerful,
the weak had but to fail.
The timid cries in the scarce wood,
recounted this rule old and fair.
The cool splashes of the winds,
were upon his golden mane.His claws were like the blades of death,
forged into his mighty legs.
He stood as ail as a cat,
though he was larger than any yet.
And stared around the grassy fields
with hungry, piercing eyes like steel.
On apt attention were his ears,
catching the voices in the air.
And his hungry mouth flashed menacing teeth,
which would be enough to be one's bane.
This youthful hunter, in his hunt,
had fear of neither whip more cane.
And in his freedom sought his kill,
with handsome horns and hooves and sheam.
He spied upon the mighty beast,
who could've easily killed another of creed.
The predator felt a pang of thirst,
to hunt and kill his prey at once.
On twenty yards was his desire,
unaware; Oh! This made him prespire.
Then two quick bounds and one sharp spring,
the herd around his prey precieved.
The crude and determined talons tore,
and yanked the flesh from his victim's bones.
The knowledge of a skill much old,
made him hold his victim's throat.
The mighty being was confused and provoked,
and tried to get rid of the load.
But dark was the night (very dark indeed) .
he twisted and turned, but the claws dug,
So breathless and dying, he lay down still.
The merciless hunter dug into the flesh,
his prey was alive, yet he did not care.
His eyes were glinting, the victim was caught.
Then came a vile but victorious roar,
and the creatures bubbled with fear awhile.
The first rays of dawn broke up the quite,
when suddenly the blast of a gun rang by.
And the victorious roar was punctured with a cry.
The king of his race, now had to die....