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Poet Hunter and Mathew

In the dense jungle the poet hunter went
With his photographer friend, Mathew
Carrying a shot-gun that Jim Corbet lent
And a camera that was practically new

Eagerly they waited for the jungle king
Composed, silent – after all tiger’s the name
They wished and prayed but not a thing
Came to start their hunting game

Rejected, frustrated the poet yawned
Along with his friend, Mathew
The hush was broken by a starling sound
And the poet his shot-gun drew

Upon them was the tigress glance
A few metres away from Mathew
The poet’s hands shook in trembling stance
And his heart beat missed a few

But his poetic mind as rescue came
And the jungle gleamed with greenery
Sexy the tiger-skin beauty became
In disguise was the haunting fairy

With camera resting on his nose
Taking shoots was friend, Mathew
Some were distant, some shots close
But they came out good, he knew

Tigress, bored by the foolish scene
Jumped on friend Mathew
And dipping her teeth in his skin
A good poetic lunch she chew

The poet hunter ran seeing the plight
And the tigress behind him flew
Behind was still enjoying the sight
And taking snaps blood stained Mathew

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