The naked hunter's fist, bunched round his spear, <br />Was tight and wet inside with sweat of fear; <br />He heard behind him what the hunted hear. <br /> <br />The silence in the undergrowth crept near; <br />Its mischief tickled in his nervous ear <br />And he became the prey, the quivering deer. <br /> <br />The naked hunter feared the threat he knew: <br />Being hunted, caught, then slaughtered like a ewe <br />By beasts who padded on four legs or two. <br /> <br />The naked hunter in the bus or queue <br />Under his decent wool is frightened too <br />But not of what his hairy forebear knew. <br /> <br />The terrible abstractions prowl about <br />The compound of his fear and chronic doubt; <br />He keeps fires burning boldly all night through, <br />But cannot keep the murderous shadows out. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Andrew Mayers<br /><br />Vernon Scannell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-terrible-abstractions/
