What if they do..?

Once upon a field of snow, there stirred a large white hare.

The thoughts, racing in its mind, to move if only you dare.

For keen was a fox, watching behind, who the rabbit did scare,

and knowing the fox, seeing the hare, that its life was his to spare.

"Calm." said the fox, "Calm," to the hare, who sat, cold and still.

"I have no gut that you or your soul could ever strive to fill."

But still it sat, and colder it grew, the breeze the hare did chill,

approach did the fox, softly, it said, "Comrade, are you ill?"

It placed its paw upon the hare, to rustle it from its sleep.

knowing not that death nearby, that nearby death did creep.

Its heartbeat was not, its mind was shot, it had leaped its final leap.

The fox could not cry, it fell to its chest, weeping its final weep.

Nearby stood man, the death nearby, the death who forgiving was not.

And there it had come, and them it had killed without a passing thought.