Two hours and more...How many miles
Of grass and plough
Have dropped behind? What use her wiles?_
It's over now!
With heart that throbs to bursting pitch,
Gasping for breath,
She crouches in the bramble ditch
And waits for death...
With lolling tongues, wild music raised
Hard on her line,
The pack streams on, while beaten, dazed,
She hears their whine
Increasing yard by yard, and low
Inside her form
She shrinks. To her and past, they flow,
A wave of warm
Wet bodies_onward still_ for there
Within their view,
A dun shape streaks ahead_"Fresh hare!"
If they but knew!
But not a soul has seen the change,
The hounds have pressed
Too far ahead, well out of range,
So does she rest,
Our gallant doe, in safety now,
While_ full of strength_

Her son leads hounds across the plough
Until at length
They must give up the hopeless quest,
And own defeat,
Then_ still with undiminished zest_
Back to his seat
Our leveret returns again,
His pads and vest
Coated with mud_ but not in vain.
And so to rest...

Ann Kingston
Glenvalley Show Kennels
annkingston@eircom.net

This page has been visited times since January 14, 2000
This page was last up-dated August 18, 2000

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