American Hunt (What’s for Lunch)

A Bow to bend
Is one taken in Hand,
An arrow extends
With no wound to mend.

At Speed it flew,
Put sharp head through.
What blood to spew,
What red bled through.

A mess of Hide
Plays with the mind.
Now run and hide,
To be found and die.

Follow the American Animal hunt;
Providing sustenance, it’s what’s for lunch.

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