This Golden Prize
(For Doris Culverhouse)
a-hunting a man was gone
in the thick of a forest sweet
away trumped he like a horn
& a deer chased till the night;
up & down till near a rock
o, the weapons fell from his hands
while asleep upon the rock
what a golden snort of the nose;
then the queen of the forest came
what a bridal match she brought
o, the dream of raw blood to tame
& what a prize she’ld win at last!
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