The Wrath of the Beast

Bursts or noises escape the trees,

causing rackets of noises and swarming bees.

Down comes home of which I climb,

gripping the last thing I have of this crime.

Shaking desperately under the wrath of the beast,

looking down as they cut at my feet.

A roaring noise tears at my ears,

Weapons so deadly it may trigger tears.

Yellow striped bags glisten below,

Watching it carefully as my eyes lit up and glow. 

It tangles around the side of my fin,

Why are we not able to put it in the bin?

Tighter it gets, tighter the grip,

I try to swim free but it just won’t rip.

Here I am unable to move, 

And out of all these people not many disapprove.

We stand tall as we act our best,

Ignoring the fact we’re putting animals to rest.

The only thing I ask is for you to try,

Without any help our animals may die.