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First People :: American Indian Poems and Prayers
 
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The Hunters

There were but two beneath the sky -
The thing I came to kill, and I.
I, under covert, quietly
Watched him sense eternity
From quivering brush to pointed nose
My gun to shoulder level rose.
And then I felt (I could not see)
Far off a hunter watching me.
I slowly put me rifle by,
For there were two who had to die -
The thing I wished to kill, and I.

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