What we hunt for is what we desire most.
The lords went hunting
early on the wings of a falcon.
There were the whinnies
of the two chestnut horses,
then the bays of the hounds.
The hunting horn sounded.
The sun went dark behind a cloud.
They plunged into the wood.
Following the old trail,
the two hares disappeared
and the dogs circled disappointed;
but later, as they approached the pond,
there was the view beneath them,
and they avidly became hunters
of both memories and laughter,
of the best of times and the worst of times.