Sylvia Plath. (№ 319593)

Creeps leopard.
One day he will kill me.
Greed burn it
Forest. He is proud, as rise fire!
Sliding his soft step
All the time behind my back
In the rocks and the vultures scream
He is after me.
I - rocks I - the thorns,
The blinding noon burned...
What passions boil in him!
How evil his blood is red!