Dance of the Tiger

Dance of the Tiger

Like a dense and silent fog
I stalk my prey,
through the sultry heat
of an obscure jungle.
Moonlight glimmers on
the orange and black satin
of my thick fur.
I can smell the earth
and the air, heavy and wet.
The dozing calf is unaware
of my looming presence.
Soon it will be another casualty
in the blood game of nature,
and I will remain,
the essence of grace and power,
something to be greatly feared.

Danielle Shaeffer