Hunters Prayer

Days repeat
its endless cycles
spent bow hunting
in the woods
where mankind
still finds solace
in the wilderness
with hours spent
in concentration
for that primal connection
so, the hunter waits
for that perfect moment
to slay the alpha male
crowned with many thorns
with his entrails spread out
across stout tan grasses
the coyotes will howl
in pleasure
at the sweet smell of offal
Ah-woo! Ah. Ah. Ah-woo!
The pack devours,
licking the still fresh blood
upon the grasses in Haste,
so not to let a drop go to waste,
the carcass tanned
the rack mounted
the antlers carved
into various objects
man finds away his way
to reconnect to nature
and, when the time has come
the tradition shall pass
from father to son
as it has
since the dawn of time.
For this, let us pray.

Saint Hubertus,
Fine patron of the hunt
I pray that your children
will fair well in the woods
may our game be tender
nore tainted
so that they may feed
our children with its flesh

But those
Who kill for mere sport,
let good meat go to waste
shall suffer the fate of Actaeon,
for the hunt is not for the thrill
of the kill,
a good Hunter fights
for life not violence
bound forever
with the Souls of all animals.

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