With a clipped horse and a whip in hand,
We ride across the open land,
Riding behind the blue tick hound,
Time for the fox to be found.
The huntsman's horn blows and we hear the hound’s cry,
Crushing the leaves under their feet, as they pass by.

NOV2018poemmain

M. Drum photo.

A feeling of excitement, that is hard to contain,
As we gallop across the open plain,
Nothing above us, but a clear blue sky,
While riding below the mountains high.
We keep riding, never looking back,
We canter along the open track.

My horse’s hooves fall in rhythm, nothing do we fear,
With my legs tightly around him, we persevere,
Our hearts pound, feeling the rush of the race,
Ready to overcome anything we face.
Both the chill and excitement built in the air,
We keep on going without a care.

We have not noticed, the clouds rolling,
The first snow is now falling,
The hounds give tongue,
Bellowing, crying as they run,
We gallop across fields, straight through the brush,
Over the streams, we feel the rush!

Tally Ho! My heart skips a beat,
We spot the wily fox, and hear the scurrying of feet.
The orange coat glistens in the sun,
Oh! If you could only see those hounds run!
However, the chase is drawing to an end,
As we approach the foxes’ den, up ahead, just ‘round the bend.

With a heavy heart, I alight from my mount,
With a pat, a praise and a true bond, there is no doubt.

The season will carry on right through the winter,
We will ride through all weather, cold and bitter,
Tonight we rest, but be assured,
We will awake before dawn to begin the next hunt.

Editor's Note: Twenty-year-old Vail Forbeck submitted this poem, which she composed several years ago while hunting with the Blue Mountain, now part of Rose Tree-Blue Mountain Hunt (PA).

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