The Pheasant

The weather was just how I liked it Looking like it would stay dry The breeze had the sharp tinge of winter Beneath a low overcast sky The thick blackthorn hedgerow behind me Bordered the tangled beech wood In front was a sowing of Rape seed The shooting from here should be good The ditch in which I was standing Was shallow and recently dried I put up my camouflage netting As kind of a temporary hide I looked across my field of fire It spread further than buckshot would reach So I opened my trusty old twelve bore And slipped two Eley five’s in the breach I saw something off in the distance Out on the old bridal trail I knew straight away it was Reynard I could see the white tip on his tail This dog fox was working the hedgerow Looking for something to eat In a week or two he won’t be hunting For vixens will soon be on heat Then came a sound to my left side I heard the dry rustle of leaves I eased off the safety catch gently And stood still not daring to breathe Nearby from a patch of dead Teasel A Pheasant was poking its head It’s wattles were white as a snowflake Round it’s eye was a dash of bright red It’s head and neck seemed to change colour With a green and blue oil like sheen It sported a thin clear white collar The clearest one I’d ever seen Cautiously into the open It was only three meters away I was stunned by it’ breathtaking beauty This vision is with me today It looked like a fowl made of copper Each breast feather tinged with a Pink And edged with the finest black outline As if they’d been sketched in with ink It’s wings were a blend of dark ochre Mingled with olive brown hue It’s tail was two thirds of a meter What was this hunter to do Quite unaware of it’s danger It slowly strolled on to the crop Carefully I raised my shotgun But something inside me said STOP No way could I fire at this vision This beauty by me won’t be shot I came to an instant decision Find something else for the pot I have enjoyed many a pheasant Washed down with a bottle of red The countryside here would be poorer If this lovely creature was dead The bird by now had become bolder and had wandered some distance away With an unloaded gun on my shoulder I went home having had a good day I will have bread and cheese for my supper