A monolith, twin hands clasped in prayer
Beneath the Hunter's Moon, a silent plea
For him who hunts, through darkness, cold, and snare
May fortune favor, and his spirit be free.
The moon, a watchful eye, illuminates
The ancient stone, a sentinel of night.
A silent guardian, it elevates
The hunter's spirit, guiding him aright.
Through deserts' dark and fields of rocky ground,
He follows trails, his heart both filled with fear
And hope, as ancient echoes resound
Within the silent clifs, year after year.
And so, the hunter, guided by the moon
And blessed by hands of stone, pursues his boon.
