I've tracked you up the wind, my buck;
You're lying plain in sight.
No need of hasty trigger-pluck—
I'll plant this bullet right,
Then hang you up and thank my luck
And feast on you tonight.

You lie with primly folded knees;
Your jaw goes round and round,
But, even so, you're not at ease—
Your big eyes search the ground,
Your black nose samples every breeze,
Your ears sift every sound.

I'm sheathed in hide I stole from kine
And wool I stole from sheep;
My cabin, built of murdered pine,
Defends me while I sleep,
And that great sword, the law, is mine
To guard me in its sweep.

But you—as through the woods you scour,
You're starkly on your own.
No stolen shield or borrowed power
Protects your brawn and bone.
You save your life from hour to hour
And out-guess fate alone.

Oh, well, go fight with antlered foes;
You're safe from me, at least.
Go court your coy and dainty does—
Smoked hog shall be my feast.
May sweet grass ever greet your nose,
You gallant little beast!