Death Of The Hares Poem by Sheena Blackhall

They are all gone away,
The heath's untroubled, still,
Those leapers through the hay
Free spirits, furred and gray,
That hunters loved to kill,
They are all gone away

There's barely one today,
To grace the moor or hill
To dance Spring's roundelay
Those boxers, merry, gay
Bringers of land's goodwill
They are all gone away

What harm did they display
To earn man's poisoned pill?
It hurts the heart to say
Their race is in decay
Nothing their lack can fill
They are all gone away,
Those leapers through the hay