I've tracked you up the wind, my buck; You're lying plain in sight. No need of hasty trigger-pluck— I'll plant this bullet right, Then hang you up and thank my luck And feast on you tonight. You lie with primly folded knees; Your jaw goes round and round, But, even so, you're not at ease— Your big eyes search the ground, Your black nose samples every breeze, Your ears sift every sound. I'm sheathed in hide I stole from kine And wool I stole from sheep; My cabin, built of murdered pine, Defends me while I sleep, And that great sword, the law, is mine To guard me in its sweep. But you—as through the woods you scour, You're starkly on your own. No stolen shield or borrowed power Protects your brawn and bone. You save your life from hour to hour And out-guess fate alone. Oh, well, go fight with antlered foes; You're safe from me, at least. Go court your coy and dainty does— Smoked hog shall be my feast. May sweet grass ever greet your nose, You gallant little beast! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH: IN OBITUM M.S. XO MAIJ, 1614 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) PRO PATRIA MORI by THOMAS MOORE THE MOTHER by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE GHOST STARS by MADELEINE AARON THE WATER-SPRINGS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |