The HuntA Poem by Tess NichollsOriginally written for my six year old cousin who, for a child, has some serious and well thought out opinions on animal cruelty. She's the first one out to the gate.
It started on a dusty morn',
The heat was high, the breeze forlorn. A young man and his dog were bored Until they spied a precious hoard. Gold, it shimmered in the haze, Swished its tail with anxious gaze. The red fox leapt and tried to run. The hunters cried, 'The game is on!' Pursuing hard through fen and fold, Finally they claimed their gold But when it turned to glistening red Not a single sorrowful tear was shed They'd killed it dead! It started on a rainy day, No sun to chase the clouds away Bright red coats the riders wore, Their horses stamping to the fore. When all at once a bugle call Sounded loud and woke them all. 'Hup,' they cried, 'Halloo, away!' And with a dash they caught their prey. A rabbit just, so small and thin, And yet they gloried in their win. The dogs, they bit and scrapped and fought. The hunters didn't spare a thought. A little prize, so dearly bought. It started on a crisp, cold night. The moon was low, the stars were bright. An old man in his cottage bare Smoked his pipe and sniffed the air. The dogs were out, he heard them bark But he feared nothing after dark. Outside he went and closed his gate And laughed - the hunters were too late! Men and hounds all cried, 'Hey,hey!' 'Let us through! The fox! Our prey!' The old man smiled and winked his eye. No hare nor fox would have to die. 'This is a private lane, goodbye!'
© 2014 Tess NichollsAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorTess NichollsKansas City, MO, IrelandAboutUnderstood alive materace meble szczecin last powers promise handled hurrying coupling clearing older largest everything capital again daughters suffering more..Writing
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