Mist lifts from the hollow, as fresh tracks you follow. Shoes are all damp, as through the veld you stamp. Close up as can be, you hide by a tree. Sit and study it a while, the joy making you smile. The antelope holds it's pose, you are watching it's nose.
Wind direction is right, prevent making it take flight.
The sun is high up now, there is sweat on your brow. With care you tread, there is game up ahead. Creeping forward you go, a heard of buffalo. The bovine smell is strong, don't get it wrong. You know the veld rule, don't be a fool.