It shatters the quiet nighttime air,
The plaintive, musical cry,
Telling that the prey is near
And excitement running high.
With varying pitch throughout the chase,
Their song trills through the night,
And each in his wild longing
Tells what’s out of sight.
What human eyes could never see,
He senses with his nose,
And the hunter, interpreting the cries
Upon the game can close.
The flashing lights, the cracking gun,
The victory is won,
And each in his own way shows pride
And claims it as his own.
They linger on; the hunt still calls,
And they hate to call it done,
But in dreams relive it
As they doze in the morning sun.
©2010 Carol Morfitt