Wednesday, 15 January 2014

This Morning For A Moment The Dog Caught A Hare.

A kestrel which swept low over the field,
a red gold brown in  brilliant winter sun,
alarmed a hare which startled then revealed
itself, not camouflaged against the dun
and lumpy plough, as it had been before
among the grasses at the fields edge.
In panic it ran back along the wire,
to where the irrigation drain with sedge
grown close prevented its escape.

And there the dog, just for a moment, stood,
and pinioned him, and I stood by agape,
until my sense returned, so that I could
shout a loud and Sergeant Majorish command
and watch the hare fly up and over land.

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