The Day Snow Leopard Died
She lay in the drift,
breath gone quiet.
No blood,
no struggle,
just still.
Her eyes held the slope
as if it would speak.
It didn’t.
The cold was kind
in its own way.
Slow.
Certain.
She didn’t roar.
She didn’t run.
She waited.
Then she went.
No one came.
No one knew.
The mountain
kept the secret.
The day the snow leopard died.
About the Creator
George’s Girl 2026
I've been writing poetry since the age of 10. With pen in hand, I wander the realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture you ❤️#Marie381UkWrites
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A More Human Vocal
When we launched Vocal nearly a decade ago, the world was a very different place. LLMs did not exist, and stories were created one at a time by people sitting down to write, revise, and share something personal. Many of our assumptions about publishing, trust, and participation were built for a world where effort and output were inseparable.
By Justin @ Vocal2 days ago in Resources
Comments (3)
Sad poem, but nicely done. That's the thing about animals, no fuss, they just go off someone and close their eyes until they don't breathe anymore.
This is so sad to die alone, but alone no more.
Sad poem about a leopard that died, but you have fantastically given mourns.