I feel quite like a doe
With a bow and arrow.
I don't know how but
I would like to shoot.
But if I shoot the hunter
How am I to be hunted?
How can something so evil
Feel so good?
I would swap cloven hoof
For fingers and toes,
I'd swap fur for
Breast and legs.
I'd take a spear and
Run them through
And so the hunter became the hunted.
Then I'd find a stag
To call my own
And become once again the doe.
And so the hunted became the hunter.
Inspired by 'Whoso List to Hunt' by Sir Thomas Wyatt.
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