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The Frustrated Hunter ©

Gordon Fjaelberg
Bridgend, Wales
1997

A month ago I saved a mouse;
I hadn't meant to, but my house
Is situated adjacent from
A field, wherein I'd walk upon.
The day was fine, a cloud was rare,
No breeze disturbed the balmy air,
And so I thought to take a walk -
Since none were there with whom to talk.
I skirted bramble, dip and hollow,
Left the path I'm meant to follow
And noted then some primal cat,
Its tail a-twitch, and body flat.
The object of this feline trait?
A mouse, unheeding of its fate.
The cat crept closer, lunch expecting,
Then my foot, all unsuspecting,
Fastened upon an awkward spot;
I stumbled, yelled, and off both shot!

A week ago, I saved a bird;
I hadn't meant to, it's absurd
To even think about a starling
Really being someone's darling.
Whilst ambling through my local wood
And savouring, (as people should),
Harebell, heartsease, primrose, lupin,
Foxgloves with their heads a-drooping,
I espied the starling on a limb
Of oak tree, giving out its hymn;
Yet not alone, for there with skill
The cat had climbed, approached its kill
And almost had that starling trapped;
Just then I sneezed - away it flapped.
The hunter glared, with a fine disdain,
As if to say: "Not YOU again!"
Climbing down, it slunked off proudly,
Muttering and grumbling loudly.

Yesterday I saved a rat;
I hadn't meant to - sorry, cat!


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