Peacock
As it rustles its pretty feathers,
During the mid of May.
It flees from hunters,
It once was very gay.
Its tri-colored body
Could never be a prey.
As it took flight,
An orange shrub was spotted.
There was hope, just a ray
As it hid.
Footsteps grew louder,
Death came closer
It turned to take off.
Alas, its feathers were stuck,
He heard the hunter’s laugh
At last within his grasp
The peacock turned to its beauty
It paid the ultimate price for it! Aamina Wahid 8D
Posts
0 comments:
Post a Comment