hunting season <br /> <br />Every Saturdays and Sunday there is a war going on in the woods, <br />man against birds and rabbits. On my lemon tree sparrows and <br />hawks sit and wait for Monday. In my garden rabbits seek shelter <br />from shoot gun pellets, eat my flowers and dig holes. My dog is <br />desperate its instinct is to go out and kill them. Killing for sport, is <br />like bullfighting without spectators, grown men, sneaking about <br />amongst trees slaughtering the innocent; not unlike the Settlers <br />behaviour against the Palestinian olive pickers and goat herders. <br /> Monday morning I shovel wheel barrow’s full of bird droppings <br />from the ground that is also full of holes. Something got to be done <br />with these awful animals, why do they not move to neighbouring <br />woods and seek shelter there?<br /><br />oskar hansen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hunting-season/
