Rudyard Kipling

(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936 / Bombay)

How Fear Came - Poem by Rudyard Kipling

The stream is shrunk--the pool is dry,
And we be comrades, thou and I;
With fevered jowl and dusty flank
Each jostling each along the bank;
And, by one drouthy fear made still,
Forgoing thought of quest or kill.
Now 'neath his dam the fawn may see,
The lean Pack-Wolf as cowed as he,
And the tall buck, unflinching, note
The fangs that tore his father's throat.
The pools are shrunk--the streams are dry,
And we be playmates, thou and I,
Till yonder cloud--Good Hunting!--Loose
The rain that breaks our Water Truce.


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Read poems about / on: hunting, father, rain, water, fear



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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