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by Cynthia Helen Gullage

Why are they killing the animals?

Is it just for the thrill of the game?

Extinction is only a hair's breadth away.

So, who are we going to blame?

Ice floes run redder each year, with the blood

Of the seals, both mother and pup.

Why are the hunters the ones to decide

That the days of their life time are up?

A sleek-coated red fox gives up her life

To make someone a glamorous wrap.

How would you feel if your own legs were caught

In the cold, steel jaws of a trap?

Next time you don your fine furry coat,

Stop for a moment, and think-

Wouldn't you feel just as warm, dressed in wool,

As in pelts of the raccoon and mink?

Polar bear, "Lord of the Arctic",

Endangered, though now called a pest,

Is being killed off, for the fault that he likes

The same foods that we humans ingest.

Do you not think that a mother bear grieves

For her parents, a daughter, or son?

Haven't you heard that the elephants weep

At the thunderous blast of a gun?

Dolphins and whales are slaughtered, each day,

For products that they can provide.

How would you feel, if each minute of life,

You were seeking a new place to hide?

Rivers and lakes, that once ran pure and clear,

Slaking thirst of the doe and her fawn,

Are now so polluted with toxins and waste,

That the salmon can no longer spawn.

Lay down your rifles, your clubs, and harpoons,

Lest, one day, when new dawn streaks the sky,

You'll wake up to find all the animals gone,

And then have the nerve to ask, "WHY?"

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