I, your leader,
The chosen one,
We are the predators of the darkness.
Hunt we must,
For on this eve,
Our children feel the pangs of hunger.

Grandmother Moon glows radiant and full.
She will guide us through the darkness.
Upon our quest,
Let's be off.
Silent and furtively we must be,
As we steal our way through the forest.

Hush, for in the air,
The profusely scent of our victim drifts.
Await and stand ready.
Prowl, slowly and closer.
Carefully now,
We do not want to alert our prey.

Hurry, quickly,
For our offering is in view.
Run.
Run faster, ambush the prey.
Encircle him, now.
Gather around,
And I shall end the hunt.
There now, it is done.

And time for all, to head back.
Within this night,
Our children shall feast.
To The Almighty, The Sacred One,
In gratification, we bow to You.

Triumphant and claiming victory,
Before Grandmother Moon,
We shall bay,
The Call Of The Wild.

©Elizabeth Ann Bushey
June-19-2006©
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