The Hunter In the Woods
Well met sir, in this silent wood
Where I seek verse and you seek blood,
I knew you were not far from here
Your gun spoke loud, its message clear.
I judged your day was a success
I found a pheasant in distress,
The shot you fired had pierced its eye
Surprising that it did not die.
Hung there are six I see are dead
Their lovely plumage sodden red,
They fell like hail from up on high
Wide airs highway free where they fly.
When you arrived here on the lane
I knew your interests dealt in pain,
You think your gun’s a lovely thing,
Though nought but death for birds it brings.
Of course it’s only birds you kill
Just little murders give you thrill,
Here for your quarry skulk and hide
Out in this lovely countryside.
These creatures that you hurt and maim
Their yours,you bred them for the game,
You put them in the wood and field
The power of death o’er them to wield.
You’re not alone in this delight
Your dogs they wag and rush and bite,
One fetched a bird with gaping wound,
Your equal joy, though he’s a hound.
So good day sir, your repast done
Time once again to take your gun,
Enjoy the horror game you play
I’ll write my poems another day.
Copyright © Rick Howarth | Year Posted 2017
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