The hunter's coming through the wood,
The crow cries in despair.
The creatures cease their search for food,
And scurry everywhere.
The little rabbit's heart does pound.
He crashes through the brush,
While looking for some secret ground,
To hide him in a rush.
The squirrels scramble to the trees.
It is their savor faire.
Whilst feathered ones take to the breeze,
Their safety's in the air.
The young man guards his every stride,
To quell the crackling leaves.
The stag lifts up his head with pride,
"The hunter's after me."
The man, made weary by his trek,
Take's rest beside a tree,
While hairs rise on the hunter's neck,
His feline eyes perceive.
He slowly puts forth each forepaw.
His muscles flex with might.
He then relaxes his great maw,
And settles for the night.