The Observer - For all the Royal Anglians past and present
Standing by a tree, rifle on hip
Leaves red and yellow like a Viking ship
Watching from the shadows, a poachers eye
Silently waiting as phantoms glide by
A noise, just a bird on the forest floor
Preening and dancing like Madame Pompadour.
Footsteps follow a distant call
Crouching like a woodlouse in a steel backed ball
Face in the dirt, a mouthful of leaves
Hiding in the gloom, nobody sees
Silence, nothing but another ghost
With the stealth of a tiger, moves back to his post.