The White Pheasant Poem by Mark Heathcote

The hunt is on…
But if anyone shoots the White pheasant:
His purse will be lighter than none
Then- if the shot was fired at a dull plain rival.
It's a deliberate ploy to release this bird
A decoy that's harem isn't established yet.

His flirtation is to court a brush with death
And survive not by wits but looks alone.
Countless firearms closely-take-aim
But do not fire. Till one shot rings out…
Here manoeuvres-to-shoot our ghostly guide.
Pausing, but only then to squeeze and shoot.

You can be on watch for a cloud of feathers
But danger-prowls-everywhere sooner
Or later, and then the hut is on for you, too,
And just like the White pheasant
You'll meet your doom at the hands of Providence
Lift your head beyond the next- white barren stile.