On this soft and heavy world
There is no greater thrill
Than hunting wild animals
And gorging on the kill
At least that’s what Timber said
As he led me through the hills
We set off one early morn
The grass glistening with dew
Rolling in its moisture
I gazed a most amazing blue
Filled with fluffy floating gauze
That Timber said was water too
With sword and dagger, spear and net
Glaive-guisarme and falchon
A bow, a halberd, a hook fauchard
A vouge, ranseur, and spetum
It seemed it would be dangerous sport
This hunting expedition
The pale yellow sun was high
When bursting from the trees
Timber, lips and arms aflapping
A most peculiar sight was he |
I must admit I was intrigued
What terrible venomous beast
Could scare the holy bejesus
From this stolid woodland priest
So intent on forest edge
I almost failed to see
The snouted, hirsuite orsine beast
Heading straight for me
Was this the juicy savory feast?
Hardly larger than a flea
I grasped my net and flung it
With studied skill and power
But, alas, I was distracted
By a most amazing flower
Stuck betwixt its cloven hoof
Ariot with vibrant colour.
With sword held high overhead
Timber closed in with a rush
He must have been distracted too
As bristle tail vanished in the brush.
Well hunting is a novel sport
Where prey we must pursue
On Sekar you have but to spit
And it will come to you
I do not know if I like to hunt
But I really loved the view.
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