The Voice Of Death (1957-58)

The moon rides high and the night is clear;
In its shimmering light comes a wounded deer;
His heart is bursting and his throat aflame
And the soft voice of Death is calling his name.

All day he evaded the baying hound
While the huntsmen behind tried to ride him down,
But a bullet sang and a searing pain
Turned everything black in his muddled brain.

But he kept right on, though his leg was lame,
And the dogs gave up when sunset came.
But now in his last defeated breath
He tries to ignore the voice of Death.

He must keep on, though he knows not how.
But the place Death describes seems paradise now,
So he slowly lies down, his breath comes in sighs
And 'neath the smile of the moon, the great beast dies.

M. SPAIN, 3C