~ by Charles A. Coulombe
All heads turn when the hunt goes by
As baying hounds with flashing eye
Precede the hunters all on horse,
Men and Women in hysteric course.
Chief Huntsman, loudly blows the horn,
The hunters by blood’s passions torn
In woods along in life’s midway
Pursue the unseen, unknown prey
Some by burning lust are led,
They seek the quarry in barren bed.
Others strive to kill their fear
With poisoned arrow of career.
All along the darkened path,
They chase the game with mounting wrath,
Through drugs or drinks to quiet soul
They stalk or speed to hidden goal
Many are guided by Heaven’s stars,
High Magic’s might, or Art of Mars.
Those who themselves above the race
Oft hurry fastest in savage pace
With reddened, face, puffing breath
They seek to cheat the ranger death
No son of Adam is at all immune,
All chase the quarry beneath the moon.
Perhaps the answer might be known
By Him Who holds the Altar-throne.
But He’s unpleasant, much too blunt,
Unlike the Master of the Hunt.
So, with the grinning Huntsman Scratch
Through forest, dark, and briar-patch
The Wild Hunt goes on and on.
None know the quarry agreed upon,
But all insist it must be done.
For All will profit when ‘tis won.
And so, it goes from year to year,
With laughter, sorrow, strength, and fear.
Father to son, mother to girl,
Always replaced, the hunter’s whirl.
We may think ourselves too good,
Yet gladly join them in the Wood.
You say on death you cast cold eye?
All heads turn when the Hunt goes by.
Image Credit – Origional Image by Author