Poetry

It moves like the shadow of the moon
Haunting the victim in the night
You can tell by the look in the victims eyes
It is truly in quite a fright
It runs with fear
Holding the life it holds so dear.
The victim runs trough the forest
The predator on it's heels
The victim tries to shake it
But to no avail
A vulture fly's overhead, shrieking it's horrible cry
It can tell, oh yes it can tell
The fate of the victim trough it's horrible eye.
The vulture land's in a tree, slightly ahead
To see the horrid bled
And as the predator sinks in it's teeth
It sees the stain of red.