Tusks

Tired of running when all we want to do is roam
There is no place here we can safely call home
The experts say a tusk is useless
But the poacher himself refuses
Gunshots heard ringing through the sky
Birds soar as flocks, heading high

After a fair few shots are fired
They lay there exhausted and tired
Not only from running, but of fearing
Surrendering watching the humans sneering
Carcasses strewn all over the place, for our beauty and grace
Tell me can we be replaced?

Your greed will have seen the end of their kind
As their horn on your wall will shine
To show wealth and success
But rid a kind nonetheless
The foul human stench lays heavy in the air
The few of us left, be aware