Strolling down the dusty trail
Dusk as quiet as a bridal veil.
The sky was clear-a shimmering blue,
Sculptured nature providing the view.
Inside the woods, leaves unnaturally piled,
Mark the scene of tempers wild.
Concealed nearbye, the murder tool;
Still coated in a crimson ghoul.
Silence screamed, the birds are few,
As if, instinctively, they all knew.
That this was the murderer one last time-
Returning to the scene of the bloody crime.
I didn't regret the violent deed I had shared,
The Game Park's loss is the fox we've snared...