By: Meghan Puppala
Teeth, grazing its prey,
like a powerful killing machine.
Its grey fur, blending into its smoky surroundings
waiting, waiting for its next victim.
It stare’s, its mouth watering just thinking,
but then it looks up and hears a faint, familiar laughter,
it then smiles, jumping up the trees like a monkey
and to its nest, its babies, smiling and playful.
They roll around, their brown fur tangling in the green leaves,
laughing, the cubs go to their mother,
and cuddle, while their mom waits with slitted eyes for her prey.
They grow older,
their teeth develop like sharp claws
they learn from their mother, how to fight and kill.
They are finally ready.
They, like their mom, blend in to the surroundings,
hunching their legs, ready to feast on their warm prey.
The younger ones wait in the tall grass,
ears up, listening for a rustles in the leaves.
They show their fangs and taste the dry air.
Then finally, they found one, they tackle their prey,
sinking their teeth and tasting blood.
They have made their mother proud.