The Serpent Poem by Bill Simmons

In the cold and dark of den
Hear him breath, no light within
The serpent takes his refuge
But soon the hunt begins

Ever sleeping, ever sleeping
And of creatures brave though small
One eye wakes from his slumber
He is feared the most of all

His sense of smell, his sight of night
The hunt it has begun
He already knows, his prey it goes
He has marked the death of one

From his den he uncoils
He slithers out his tongue
His silent hiss, it is like this
For the serpent and the one

Through the forest he slithers too
Upon his belly he seeks his prey
Soon his hunger will be sufficed
As death it only sits and waits

At the pond it is found
With back turned a rodent now
So easy is this prey to be
Within distance the serpent sneaks

The rodent still not turns away
Content on berries or what lay
Never knowing what is prey
Never knowing death it waits

The serpent coiled and is ready
Fast now he makes his strike
But somewhat left is he confused
As the rodent simply steps aside

How can he miss, but it's true
Again the serpent strikes
In anger now for still no kill
As again the rodent steps aside

How can I miss my kill
I have never missed a strike
I will approach him from his side
He will see his death within my eyes

He will quiver, he will shake
He will know it is I, his life I take
And as I squeeze his breath away
For my missed strike, I'll make him pay

He repositions, he makes his strike
In disbelief and fear in flight
For what it was he thought he knew
Not a rodent but a small mongoose

And there before the mongoose there lay
The half eaten carcass of that a snake
To late to run, to late to pray
By the throat the mongoose again takes his prey

As the serpent he slowly dies
And again the mongoose his feast begun
So it is the way of death
Again the surprise of death has won.

copyright 2005 Bill Simmons
aka BillWilliamStar@aol.com