Hunt

After the count of three, they run;smashing through
bracken, briars, snowdrops;leaving prints, snapped twigs;
priming deadfall traps, laying caltrops;scattering like lice.
They fear the gun.The hunting party leave one
hour's grace;they quaff ruby sherry and
plan,trading strategems for stalking man.With a
bugle blast, these foxes join the race.