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The Vegan

Motionless at the shell,

Fidgeting within but no one can tell.

Fly on the wall, I sit and I wait.

For movement below, I will seal their fate.

The chills they slip in, right through the cracks,

When I breathe damp clouds, I know comfort is not a fact.

The sway in the trees, keeps me awake,

Threatening my focus, Little critters will rake.

Burdens are heavy, when senses are most high,

Buck fever they call it, is when I’ll feel too shy.

Deadly, swift and tact…,

The last thing they will think, right before I draw…


Autumn comes, spring leaves.

Still no deer, nothing to seize.

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Dec 21, 2021

Ahh the everlasting battle against one, or perhaps many of one. Nicely written.

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