OF HUNTER AND PREY

I always wanted to write like the sages of old with their intricate choice of words their humour and wit the stories of moonlit nights and banter by the log fire sharing tales and escapades of long days in the pasture or of horrific epics in the woods but all I get my pen to do is write dirges and painful dispatches of the bleeding of hearts and explosion of brains resulting from broken hunters back from the bush empty-handed their arrows still shiny from sharpening either the prey has become the wiser or the hunter has become slower