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Silently the trees rushed by hushed in the early dews of morning waving their heads and hands to passers-by the humming of the engine chirping of the birds screeching of trees falling of branches disturbed the deadness of the morning a bird flew from nowhere sat on a branch and sang a soft sad song perhaps crying in the dawn the bushes parted slowly moving out of the way making space for a black limb two eyes white teeth features alien to the place the figure stooped threw back his head his neck made an acute angle with the ground like a falling tree ground covered with velvety grass his hand stretched behind like he was scratching his neck pulled an arrow from a pouch dangling from his back he shot and missed and with that shot he missed his chance his only chance to kill a bird. |
Khasu, Kona. “The Hunter.” The Seeds of Time: A Collection of Poems. Mimeographed typescript. Monrovia, 1971. 3–4.
| Line | Typescript | Changed to |
| 37 | like he was stratching his neck | like he was scratching his neck |
| 45 | to kill a bird | to kill a bird. |
