Night hunters

For the dverse prompt to write an ottava rima poem.

1280px-Marc-blue-black_fox

When wandering cloud obscures the full moon bright,

The hunters prowl in shadows dark and deep,

While vixen in her lair far from the light,

Curls round her cubs to keep them safe in sleep

Until they pass—the dangers in the night,

With stealthy tread, her secret night paths creep.

And in this world of silent, withheld breath,

The stars are still, for nothing stirs in death.

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

25 thoughts on “Night hunters”

    1. I don’t swallow the excuse that they are the guardians of the countryside, or that it’s an essential urge, even deeper than a tradition. We’re not cave people any more. Well, some of us…

  1. I actually held my breath while reading this, Jane!
    ‘And in this world of silent, withheld breath,
    The stars are still, for nothing stirs in death’.

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