Cold-Blooded Kill
Rated PG-13 for detailed gore.
As I ran through the darkened wood
A feeling crept through me.
I didn’t feel as I knew I should.
There was something in the tree.
My fears were not relieved
No matter what I said.
I don’t think I really believed
That a panther lay there, dead.
His eyes were open, green as leaves
His mouth was full of blood.
Horror stung me like a swarm of bees,
When I heard a dagger thud.
It sat there on the forest floor,
The blade was stained with red.
I knew his killer was at deaths door
But poaching’s illegal, or so I read.
It doesn’t matter if it’s against the law.
You should never have to do such.
A life was taken, and that is all.
I cannot really say much.
A beautiful glow came from behind me,
And tears had stained my face.
The panthers ghost sat in the opposite tree,
Looking like the wind, or lace.
It growled in a friendly way
To show me it was happy.
Describing it, I cannot say…
But this tale should not sound sappy.
He wouldn’t want your pity and sorrow.
He was a majestic creature, ‘tis true.
And so, as I start to see tomorrow,
I bid you all adieu.
My friend’s dad once killed a panther, and this is sort of how I felt. I only saw the skin, never any of the stuff I made up here.
