The coyotes cry in the distance I feel,
Smell their hunt for blood unseemingly real.
As the leaves rustle in the dark,
As they run and squeal to their mark.
I hear their paws stomping on the soil,
As their thirst drips and their madness boils.
The prey is fearful but at once,
Takes off in fear before they pounce.
Hiding in underbrush so dense and thorned.
But their scent is out as if newborn.
The circle of life comes full round.
Their life leaks away without a sound.
