Be wary.
The tiger approaches ; surely we are his quarry.
Shrouded in the jungle mist,
We lie in wait for the tiger’s call.
Armed with only our fist,
He is sure to strike and to maul.
And with a magnificent roar,
He leapt up from the bush and smote down a boar.
He gorged on the flesh,
Unaware of our mesh,
He turned, and as our eyes met,
We caught him in our net.
Pensive Indian 