I thought after reading WHITSER's poem i would put one up of mine
The Chase.
The fox is sly ,the fox is cunning,
he breaks his cover, and now he's running,
he's running from fear, he's running from the pack,
he know's where he is going, as he takes a look back.
He pushes threw bracken, he pushes under gate,
the hounds are drawing closer now, but this is his fate,
he's old he's weathered, he's had his last fill,
the farmer will be happy now,no more chicken's will he kill.
He takes a tumble, which is his downfall,
the hounds are closer now, you can hear them call,
the