Hunted

A poem about fox-hunting written when I was 14.

Hunted

I run through the forest past bushes and logs
I hear the sounds of horns and barking of dogs
Clip-clop as horses run in the hunt
I'm trying my best to stay in the front.

They're coming closer, I hear people shout
I come to a wall, I can't get out
I'm starting to tremble what shall I do?
I spot a hole I can just squeeze through.

Suddenly I feel a dog grab my tail
I try to run on but each time I fail
My side is aching and starting to bleed
Im feeling faint and can't put on speed.

Other dogs come and claw at my face
Some call it a sport to hunt down my race
The hunters are coming, please leave us alone
Why do you do this to all of my own?