August, 2002
A poem inspired by fox-hunting. It should be stopped. Now.
Hunter hunted
Running because, what choice is there?
To stay would be to deliver yourself
Into the jaws of your enemies
No dog would give a fox any quarter
Nor show her any mercy
Never mind that she is pregnant
If they catch you they will tear you open
And the men will take your tail for a trophy
So you run because you still have your dignity
Because you are still alive
But poor fox
You will wish, too late,
You had shown more mercy to the rabbit.