The Kill Poem by Mary Champion

The fast, fast paws of the fleeing fox
send up flurries of snow
as it tries to outrun its pursuer.
A devoted shepherd, tending his flocks,
eyes his perennial foe,
steadies the gun against his shoulder,

takes practised aim and then he fires.
But some instinct dictates -
the fugitive fox suddenly swerves.
How much longer before it tires?
Now its terror dominates -
the hammer blows of its heart - the tensed nerves.

With a frustrated oath on his lip
the man, resolves to kill.
He takes relentless aim through the gloam-
ing and pitilessly tightens his grip -
the fox drops and dies - lies - still
many, many fields - so far from home.