[In reply to a letter sent in with tremendous poem – see LETTERS]:
Many thanks Kathryn. Well worth putting up here. For all to see and ponder.
Red is for them in their showy, red jackets.
Mounting their horses with inflamed egos
And blood-stained thoughts.
I only have to think of them and I see red.
The bugle sounds,
Release the hounds.
White is their colour.
Not pure, virgin white, but pale, deathly white.
Barks of excitement, tails wagging,
Milky, white teeth that rip life from flesh.
Their noses smell fear,
A fox is near.
Grey is for the saboteurs.
That solid, steely, grey of determination.
Waiting patiently in neutral,
Grey shadows of bush and bark
To hinder and thwart
This bloody sport.
The fox’s colour is brown, reddish brown;
The colour of decaying blood.
Running frantically from hoof and hound,
Across acres of woodland as fast as it can…
So much for the ban!
PLEASE OBSERVE COPYRIGHT