The Tiger Smells Blood

Silently resting neath a tree,
Pawing at the straw of grass.
Eyes piercing the horizon,
Searching all senses alas.

Resting on the cool mud,
Then the Tiger smells blood.

The Tigers nostrils become filled,
Running toward the freshly killed.

The Tiger stalks through the meadow,
Sun to back, ready to attack.

A pack of dogs surround the meat,
He leaps into the pack ready to eat.

The pack filled with fear,
Stare at the mighty beast.
Would they stand fast,
Or become a part of the feast.

The Tiger snarls shoulders hunch,
Who would stand before his lunch.

The dogs bark and run away,
They would not eat their prey.

The Tiger eats the carcass crushing bones,
He then returns to lay beneath the tree.
His meal digested and stomach moans,
He licks his paws, then smiles with glee.

An old man robbed by ruthless hood,
Like a pack of dogs they draw blood.
They leave him laying in their city pride,
In the jungle, the beast will eat their hide.

poem by Saint Eule
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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