For the Morning Meal

Trampling down the brush,
I run swiftly through the lush forest,
running past undisturbed life,
even a fallen birds nest,

running for pure life,
no one to hear me scream,
except the sun,
the sunrise’s first beams,

my follower close behind,
the one who should doom me to the flower bed,
turning the white flowers,
into those of crimson red,

I wish to run forever,
knowing I simply cannot,
I may have to surrender,
going against what I was taught,

I slip over piles of twigs and leaves,
falling with no regret,
only wishing I could have kept running,
until the sun had set,

my follower soon advances,
eyes a glint with madness,
hungry for my blood,
all of it more of less,

eyes with such precaution,
as he slowly places me in binds,
setting me away for the morning meal,
to which I shall not dine...