THE HUNT
Hunger pangs tore at his belly, Deep the drifts, dark the sky, Three days without food, The caches all gone, nothing left, The clan was desperate, He and three others, last hope, If game they did not bring back, Then the Shaman last rites intone, Deep winter, the dying time, Worst than any memory this year, A dry summer, fires about in fall, The land, as if the evil ones stole all, Then cold, and colder, ever present, The caribou and the hare gone, If not for the bear, nothing at all, The treks... Sign in to see full entry.