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.