The Hunter and the Hunted
By
Ross Dix-Peek
Twas the year eighteen-seventy-three
In “Darkest Africa”, you see,
That these events did transpire,
Events most dire
A hunter came a-hunting in the midday sun,
Montagu was his name, an Englishman,
Twas but sport to him,
And the killing merely a whim
But in the bush, midst the tall elephant-grass,
Lay a lioness, too a killing machine, lean and fast
She and her cubs just basking in the baking sun,
Not aware of what their way was to come
And gaily through the veld marched old Montagu,
While behind him trudged his weary retinue,
Ah, he could not wait to his trophies show
To the folk back home, and in their adulation glow
But, in the interim the lioness had seen this stranger,
Who would her dear little cubs endanger,
Her fiery eyes were now intent,
And her mind upon this interloper bent
But, Montagu of all of this was soundly unaware
As he upon the majestic veld did enraptured stare,
And as the sun began to wane upon this African day,
Who was now the predator and who the prey?
The end did come sharp and swift,
As the lioness the long tall grass did rift,
And no sound did her presence announce,
As she did upon Montagu pounce
No time did he have to raise his gun,
No time did he have to run,
And soon the fearful deed was over,
And poor Montagu was no longer
And as his torn body in the sunburnt grass lay,
The Lioness into the African bush did melt away,
And, it was not long before the vultures o’er their meal fought,
The fresh flesh of an Englishman who thought killing mere sport!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem here Ross.keep it up