“Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?” – William Blake
Fickle, prowling feline, you search for a thrill.
With hungry eyes cloaked behind shuffling green,
Gleaming in the emptiness of the obscured night.
Where will you go, what death will satisfy curiosity?
Hailed for your mystery,
Your prowess moves expectations.