A docile panther lost in the night,
parting boughs if pine and cedar
with rough calloused paws,
and eyes of amber light.
Silent as a feather through a comb
she slips with the wind, gulping
the sweet liquors of darkness;
the forest is now her home.
No moon left to guide her way,
she’s a suicide gone wrong;
hardly a chance to digest
the rodents that are her prey.
With the other petty thieves that share
her pebbled and speckled trail,
another week shall find her
drowsing in her lair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem