Ayr Academy: Rachel Grant



The Tiger

Slinking through the long grass,
The tiger,
Her elegant body wound up like a spring,
Preparing to pounce upon her prey,
The silence rises,
The only sound, a soft scurrying,
The smell of fear,
A terrified creature moving in panic,
Through the sharp blades of green,
A whoosh of air, the scurrying stops,
The power of her pounce,
The taste of victory in the air.
She emerges,
Her feline face smug, but beautiful,
My little cat, she comes towards me,
Winding around my legs,
I tickle her ears, she purrs,
How can something so small and sweet,
Be so lethal and deadly?

by Rachel Grant