The Hunting Tide Poem by Jonathan Howard

As the young hunter then brings home
The evening’s meal raw,
And as the moon shines silvery-chrome,
He rips it with his claw;
This is the tide of strength and pride,
As hunters seek you out,
Discreetly you must try to hide,
For death is still in doubt.

As those young hunters wish you meat,
You know the end is near –
For you’ll no longer be discreet,
A sound you make – they hear;
You cannot run, nor can you hide,
Round corners dangers lurk:
There is nobody on your side,
As you hide in the murk.

As time then moves and tide then fl ows,
You fl ee; you know your foe,
Right then you hear the sound of crows –
You look down and you know:
So green’s the lawn in lights of dawn
As clouds and sun appear,
Your foes then charge, loud sounds the horn –
And round you they draw near.

(Winter 2004-2005.)