The Hunter's Horn Poem by Max Gatrell

For every trail that's ever trod,
The hunter seeks the hunted.
Betwixt the shrubs and Willow trees,
A quarry is confronted.

Timorous Deer, too petrified,
To counter her oppressor.
That ceding hence undignified,
Would make the slaying lesser.

Precarious prey perceive the knell,
Which indicates demise.
Did the Doe before she fell,
Perchance the bell surmise?

As the hunter smited her,
He spake a grateful prayer.
'Your meat permits me to survive,
Your skin shall line my lair.'

Salting flesh and curing hide,
His humble life was borne.
Now with hunger satisfied,
He plays the Hunter's Horn.