He hunted and was in turn hunted
Day and night by sleepless hounds
Who grew more obdurate each day
And vowed to have his entrails soon as they may.
He learnt it was better not to show himself
Though he gave out tapes and terror – talk,
Cocksure that him none could ever slay
And his men would see him all the way.
He thought little of the barking hounds
Who barked and ran after his heels;
He knew that the god who heard him pray,
For whom he fought, he could well sway.
So he went on with his hunting game
With game topping every move and claim
Till the bloodhounds did as they did say
And ended the clergyman in the fray.
So, fellow – men, this is the moral of the day:
Never with false sunshine do make your hay.
(This poem is from my published collection Thus Spake the Hour:Flashes of 2011)