Work of Art Poem

His head turned arond
one paw up
firey eyes fixed on something...

He is no longer a gray sculpture
made of clay,
but a predator
alive as life itself.

His smooth, silky, fur
covers his slender body.
He speeds through the jungle
His head turned arond
one paw up
firey eyes fixed on something...

He is no longer a gray sculpture
made of clay,
but a predator
alive as life itself.

His smooth, silky, fur
covers his slender body.
He speeds through the jungle
at 60 miles an hour.
Just an orange blur to the other animals.

Suddenly he stops dead in his tracks.
His ear perks up.
His gray, pale, clay ear
now real,
hears a noise.

A predator?
Or prey?

He listens.
He lifts one paw up,
ready to dart away at lighting speeds.

But his hind legs set,
ready to spin around
and attack.
He slowly turns his head.

His furious eyes,
not the pale clay eyes of a statue,
but the eyes of a predator,
on fire, alive,
staring fearlessly into the eyes of whatever is behind him.

This so called "sculpture"
made of clay,
pale, gray, and still,
Is alive.
Is a predator.
Is real.
at 60 miles an hour.
Just an orange blur to the other animals.

Suddenly he stops dead in his tracks.
His ear perks up.
His gray, pale, clay ear
now real,
hears a noise.

A predator?
Or prey?

He listens.
He lifts one paw up,
ready to dart away at lighting speeds.

But his hind legs set,
ready to spin around
and attack.
He slowly turns his head.

His furious eyes,
not the pale clay eyes of a statue,
but the eyes of a predator,
on fire, alive,
staring fearlessly into the eyes of whatever is behind him.

This so called "sculpture"
made of clay,
pale, gray, and still,
Is alive.
Is a predator.
Is real.
His head turned arond
one paw up
firey eyes fixed on something...

He is no longer a gray sculpture
made of clay,
but a predator
alive as life itself.

His smooth, silky, fur
covers his slender body.
He speeds through the... [continues]

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