The Hurt of Poetry

The hurts in poetry the touchstone of poetry is the beauty of the pain of longing for lost beauty walking an old track looking for the lost I nearly stepped on a rabbit it was too late to run we both pretended we did not see each other. When the rabbit realized there was no harm it got up smelled my shoes and slowly jumped back into the bushes. The forest was silent I had lost my dog she liked to chase things she saw but made a lot of noise, but there was a deeper muteness of course, it was wintertime and hunter were out with their dogs not today though. If a hunter´s dog was not up to the chase if was left behind it had nowhere to go. The dogs in the village wouldn´t make it in, poor thing cold and no food, how can we be so cruel? It was left to my neighbour to find the lost dog and end its life. He could no rely on me since my dog was rescued by insensitive people, and he already had five dogs. The beauty was to see the rabbit leave not afraid what do I know it might have thought I was a tree.