In the heart of the whispering woods,
Where shadows dance with the dawn,
The hunter moves with silent steps,
In pursuit of what is gone.

The rustle of leaves underfoot,
A symphony of nature’s song,
Guides the path through tangled trees,
Where the wild ones belong.

Eyes keen as the falcon’s flight,
Heart beating with the earth’s own drum,
In the stillness of the morning light,
The dance of life and death becomes.

Yet in the chase, a gentle respect,
For the life that feeds the soul,
In the circle of the ancient hunt,
The hunter and hunted become whole.