The Hunter.

Native American poetry
The Hunters 

“There were but two beneath the sky

The thing I came to kill, and I. 

I, under covert, quietly 

Watched him sense eternity 

From quivering brush to pointed nose 

My gun to shoulder level rose 

And then I felt (I could not see) 

Far off a hunter watching me. 

I slowly put my rifle by, 

For there were two who had to die с 

The thing I wished to kill, 

and I. “

                                                         ~Black Elk, of the Oglala Sioux 1863-1950

                                                           via~ Lana Duze


 

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