The hounds bay in breathless anticipation
of the sweet,savage hunt to come,
while the wily old fox of my soul races for safe
refuge from the torment of love's pursuit.
The shy rabbit of my mind fearfully hides
in the tall grass of skepticism from the torture
that is to swiftly come.
While the mourning doves of my life take flight
to escape the ferocious hunter of my heart.
Donavon Scott Vinson