Categories for Hunting Poetry

They call me Charles James (and a few other names….) Such as Reynard and Charlie the Fox. I’m a glutton for hens and for turkeys in pens And a worry to men who tend flocks. People cut quite a dash and they pay out good cash When it’s me that they’re huntin’ y’know. I’m a...

Ahh!, how I miss him where the trees That fringe the gorse are softly dripping, Sore-hearted as I feel my knees The flanks of his successor gripping: His gleaming heels no more, alas, Shall leave the straggling field behind him; No more across a stretch of grass The fastest run unbeaten find him. For he...