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Recently I saw a fox hunt, well that’s not exactly correct. I saw red coated officials on horses, and there were foxhounds running over fields. I did not see a fox, I was in the car with my wife and I did not stop to enquire what was going on. If it was a drag hunt which is not illegal, so be it. But I understand if the scent of fox crosses where a drag has been, it would be difficult to prevent the hounds changing direction. Hence…

A fox’s last day
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
& A Poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet

‘This is my England, the grass is green.
Trees are in blossom, best I’ve ever seen.
Wildflowers growing in the meadow.
Colours of white, purple and yellow.
All of this I’ve seen today.’

‘But hark I hear a horn doth blow.
Not a traffic one you know.
For here a sweet river does flow.
Here they come, oh dear, no!’
A fox calls out its plaintive cry.
‘Please help me, as now I’m about to die.’

‘I’m exhausted now, can you not see?
Chased by the hounds, now they’ll kill me.
Rip me apart, they will you know.
And out of me, my life will flow.
No love for me, you humans show.
Just as well I’ll die you know.’

‘Hark I hear the foxhounds cry.
They’ve caught a fox now it will die.
Ripped to pieces before your eyes!
What a horrible way to die.
I hope you are all satisfied I say.
For what you all did to-day.’

Stanley
(The new mad Author)

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