The Hunt
To ride a horse and hunt with the hound,
Is to find a hare that can’t be found.
To feel the wind blowing in your face,
And ride a horse in the wilderness of space,
Is a joy that has hope in the purpose to find,
A hare that runs with the wind behind.
We heard in the distance bells that toll,
While riding hard over a grassy knoll;
For the hare was running within the shadows,
Under the gate and across the meadows.
She ran with the wind and couldn’t hesitate,
For she knew a fear that held her fate.
Between the mission and the means,
Was desperation holding the schemes;
Trying with luck to defy the haste,
Knowing there was no time to waste;
But the hare was lucky to find a hole,
For she jumped right in and saved her soul.
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