‘A Lesson For His Lordship’
© Joe Canning 2017. All Rights Reserved.
Cold sweat drenched his wrinkled brow.
Perhaps guilt invaded his tortured slumber.
In flight he went twixt hedge and thorny thicket,
Panting, wheezing, grunting, puffing, unceasing.
Capture would mean his Earthly extinction.
The hunters to his rear bent on his destruction.
Vulnerable at times in sudden wide expanses.
Regretful now for his pleasures of the past.
Life giving oxygen flew from his collapsing lungs.
Hopes of survival encouraged continuing flight.
Unheard pleadings for salvation went unheard.
He would receive no succour on this occasion.
His thrashings disturbed his velvet eider-down.
He begged a higher power to grant him protection,
Craved for mercy in his hypocritical rantings.
Alas! This nightmare would continue to its conclusion.
On shredded knees he knelt to face his fate.
Thumping were the palpitations in his chest,
No more toasting the master of the Galway hunt,
Tables turned, fangs of avenging foxes approached.
The subservient servant attended his chamber,
A cold awakening cloth mopped his aristocratic brow.
On wet silken sheets a so-called nobleman vowed,
“No horn nor cup shall touch my lips again”.
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