The Hunter Poem by Theresa Ann Moore

He strides low to the ground,
Legs crouching ready to pounce
Waiting patiently without a sound,
Muscles steady, ready to trounce.

Eyes intently riveting on a bird.
He creeps under a bush for cover,
the bird’s faint pecking is heard.
On a telephone wire, a squirrel hovers.

With a rapid rush, a fury flash dashes.
Shrill overhead chatter suddenly erupts
Beating wings lift, avoiding scratches…
Despising eyes look up at the interrupter.