The Hunt Poem by Joseph Cross

Slithering through the thick reeds,
The humble serpent spies it's prey.
A lone field mouse lies sleeping soundly,
Stretched out in the dust.

The malevolent hunter ventures nigh,
Making no sound audible.
He wakes not the simple rodent,
Slumbering in the sunny morn.

The hunter anticipates a chase,
Tightening all the sleek muscles in his power.
Excitement overtakes him,
Causes him to lose focus.

He strikes once...twice...three times strong.
A dropp of blood falls from his left fang.
The field mouse lies crumpled on the ground,
A meal fit for a king.