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The Hunt



Resplendent upon their Chestnut Mares,

The white legged riders ride,

Wearing shiny boots and scarlet coats,

They scour the countryside.

The Fox, alert with poise and grace,

Redden as the setting sun,

Hears in the distance both man and dog,

Anxious, she knows she must run.

Through freshly harvested fields she bounds,

Plunging into ice-cold waters,

Darting first this way, then jinking that,

Saving her hide from slaughter.

Her ears laid flat against her head,

Streamlined to gain more speed,

The dogs are catching her fast she knows,

They’re eroding her paltry lead.

Over the hedge, ditch, and another stream,

Clinging hopefully to any chance,

To escape those jaws of gnashing teeth,

Evading the foxhound's prance.

But the Raven feathered wings of death,

Shroud the screaming Vixens face,

The ivory weaponed dogs of want,

Conclude this tortured race.


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