Wandering armed through the woods,
I spot you like the prey seeing the hunter.
Lethally I step on brown leaves and loud sticks, which immediately snap under me.
Lamely you aim for the tree, ready to shoot, but I was long gone.
Jumping over broken logs, stepping on everything under me, hiding behind a tree, I wait.
Breathing softly and closing my eyes, I hear counting.
Regarding the trees softly, the hunter takes off his mask, knowing his prey is not his prey after all.
One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight…I uncover my eyes, and listen.
Another set of numbers and the hunter is close.
Did I run, I would be spotted and unknown,
Did I stay…
Ultimately if I stay,
Should, or will, I be more than prey?