The wolf hunts
Not alone
But as brother and sister,
Father and son,
Neighbor with neighbor travel
forests and field seeking a meal.
The wolf feeds its young with prey killed.
All of the pack shares some food to eat
Celebrates the feast howling with relief
The hunter tracks
Follows a trail
Waits for a chance aims, fires and kills
The prowling beast.
His hunt makes a trophy of dead meat.
In the stealth of pursuit or hunt
no difference,
But one we call sport
With a trophy to admire;
One food for life to transpire.
THH
7/24/24
Thoughts Have Hands 