Night Sky Poem by Dale Harvey

Whiskers aquiver, a sliver of moon
cracks the black ice of winter's cloudless sky.
Perched high on his bough, the sniper will soon
have deadly use of his own night scope eye.

Like shades, slyly, insurgents shadow shift.
Warmly bedded in down their targets dream.
Sentries scent an atmosphere change and lift
their muzzles sensing predators unseen.

In harsh daylight battlefields tell their tale.
Fur and bone, feathers, breast, wing, tail and pin
show survival imperatives prevailed.
In nature's war such killing is no sin.

When man takes to arms it is not to feed
but for righteousness and unalloyed greed