Red Tail, Teri Zucksworth

Along the grassline dark and shifting,
Static for a moment in the crosswind,
Then boldly changing course, but never lifting
His shadow from the heart — the hunter drifting.
The rabbit stiffening in brindled shade
Is warning to the quail to drop their chatter.
In common fear an obeisance is made —
The hunter is alert above the glade.
He passes noiselessly and then
Is gone.  To his passing each small eye is pinned.
They live today and that is all that matters,
For when tomorrow comes, he comes again.

Hugh Moore