Sunday, February 26, 2012

XXVI: Dream-foxes

Dream-foxes ever elude the hoary hunter
who now, with a baying troupe of hounds,
pursues the will-o'-wisp wanderings
of a certain sleek vixen.

Her curious and piercing eyes
glint in pensive observation
from behind ancient twisted oaks,
whose myriad mighty arms
of a sudden weave tightly together,
hemming in the hunter and his hounds.

Horns! Horns! Horns blowing!
Horns blaring shrill in the woods!
A hundred companion hunters riding!
Riding with hounds to the coverts!

The demure fox turns her brush-tail
and hastens away into the brown shadows,
fleeing under limbs and dying leaves,
in cold and wretched weather,
until hunting horns are heard no more.

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