Treasure Island

Philip Carter

(London)

The Hunter Is Now The Hunted


He crawls around the tall grass
Nose twitching all the time
His senses on full alert for danger
While hunting for his next meal
A worm appears in front of him
Just slightly out of reach
But a swift run and the worm is his
Lunch has begun
A flash of wings, a gust of air
The grass gets pushed down flat
A squeal of pain, then nothing
Up into the air, his lifeless body is carried
The hunter has become the hunted.

Submitted: Saturday, May 11, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 16, 2013

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