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Thursday, April 21, 2011

the rabbit hunter...

...By Robert Frost.

Careless and still
The hunter lurks
With gun depressed
Facing alone
The alder swamps
Ghastly snow-white.
And his hound works
In the offing there
Like one possessed.
And yelps delight
And sings and romps,
Bringing him on
The shadowy hare
For him to rend
And deal a death
That he nor it
(Nor I) have wit
To comprehend.
Again, one of my favorites!

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