The Hunt

The quiet village knew the hunt was coming. You could hear the cries across the silent air. People waited, watched, and then The hounds came slinking from the woods. With eyes like red hot pools of fire They glared at everyone And gnashed their jaws. They could not find their footing on the icy bank And slid into an angry pile of fangs and bites. The huntsmen came wrapped up against the cold; They parted the hounds and beat them off. One by one, the dark forms left and loped away; They did not seem to feel the icy wind. The men trudged after them. The snow began to fall. The trees and the blackness of the woods Were swallowed up in a white cloud And the footprints and pawprints in the snow Slowly disappeared.

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