The way the hunt progressed, I thought 
The fox would hound me in my sleep,
The way he carved the bottom land 
And tortured the rough autumn sod. 
The path he travelled, like a cord 
Dropped on a table by my hand 
Dipped in and out a twisted creek 
Like fishlines snarled and tangled fast,
Was leading on an eager boast 
Of ugly people in a wood.