the games foot

the words afoot

in an instant it has sent the 

hare of a poem, running in my mind;

and i raise the larks in startling, 

the bees in spelter yellow,

as i crash across the heather. ch, ch ...

chase it! chase it! to the end of gasping,

but

i never see it stroll home to its lay. where,

ears back, agouti it is hidden, with ignition eyes;

and there, through the days it lays.   
so, my dear reader, tread carefully 
as you stride across my words,

my tussocked lines, this grass sea of pages;

for here, somewhere, a hare doth lie!

and there he goes .......