THE HUNT

They shot him in the evening,
After a long day's hunting ;
Cornered him by some old haunt,
Marched in, firing their guns.

Of course he's mounted now,
Head stuck on a piece of wood,
Beside a photo of the place he was found
And there they stand - on him - on the ground.

A splendid chase and fun was had by all:
The dogs barked as they picked up his scent,
Tracked him along some wall -
An evening well spent.

And now we stand, drinks in hand,
Admiring the bold forehead, the proud snout,
Imagining his bellow of rage, his last shout
As he dropped heavily in his last stand.

Ah! Fond memories, our host tells us, wiping away a tear:
You should have seen their surprise
When we popped up from behind their armchairs,
Him and his old dear !