Out to Lunch
The night watches, With a thousand eyes, Rich taste of blood, A moan, almost a sigh. Hidden in shadows, Blood rich and warm, My nightly feast, Here safe from harm. Out of the shadow, A sound is heard. I strike my prey, With skill and nerve. Attacking my enemy, Like a wolf on sheep, His mangled body, Here at my feet. Written November 20th, 2001 © on Nov 20 2001 02:41 AM PST, Phyllis Thompson 0 • 10
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"The night watches,..."