It's not a trial to slay a doe
Among the forest floor and snow,
Enchanted by the final breath
Echoing from the chasm breath.
A soul escaping from a snout,
A final breath struggles out
To join where snowflakes dance and play,
Ashes to ashes, fallen prey.
Moist lips dry, the ground is wet,
Eyes turn to stone, a beat, to rest.
This peaceful sight is not the same
When the victim screams your name.