Hunting
Hunting
Go home, child, quickly, the hounds have been loosed.
Go now, please hurry, through the bloody fields and woods.
Your father awaits, a rifle in hand,
So tread carefully but but quickly, quickly, quickly.
Run, my sweet, with your coat tucked close,
Lest it catch on brambles, branches, and thorns.
No light to help you on the path of escape.
The clouds unyielding, the moon they drape.
If I could, I would sweep you off your tired feet,
And we would fly to safety, cover you in my heat.
But no, my child, I can't, I shan't! Or you would bleed
On my claws too long and my teeth too sharp.
Run, child, the wolves are hunting.
--Tharkny A. Raznic
Go home, child, quickly, the hounds have been loosed.
Go now, please hurry, through the bloody fields and woods.
Your father awaits, a rifle in hand,
So tread carefully but but quickly, quickly, quickly.
Run, my sweet, with your coat tucked close,
Lest it catch on brambles, branches, and thorns.
No light to help you on the path of escape.
The clouds unyielding, the moon they drape.
If I could, I would sweep you off your tired feet,
And we would fly to safety, cover you in my heat.
But no, my child, I can't, I shan't! Or you would bleed
On my claws too long and my teeth too sharp.
Run, child, the wolves are hunting.
--Tharkny A. Raznic