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. 

This poem is about: 
Our world


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