Sheep In Wolf’s Clothing

A summer hibernation,


The dog days came,

to a bloody halt.


The slow, fat prey,

are the first to be caught.

to be tossed around,

by kind eyes and sharp teeth.


“Any of us could be next,”

thought one,

clawing the victim aside,

as was once his fate.


The circle revolved,

prey returned and

The zealous mongrel

struck with vigor.



the circle howled with laughter,

as the gash bled.

That bloody grin.


Straightened with snarling rhetoric,

about to sink the killer blow,

two thoughts came,

“It could be me”,


“It was me”.

He stepped back, horrified,

all eyes on him,

turning to cotton.


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