The fox he came lolloping, lolloping,
Lolloping.  His eyes were bright,
His ears were high.
He was like death at the end of a string
When he came to the hollow
Log.  He ran in one side
And out of the other.  O
He was sly.

The hounds they came tumbling, tumbling,
Tumbling.  Their heads were low,
Their eyes were red.
The sound of their breath was louder than death
When they came to the hollow
Log.  They boiled at one end
But a bitch found the scent.  O
They were mad.

The hunter came galloping, galloping,
Galloping.  All damp was his mare
From her hooves to her mane.
His coat and his mouth were redder than death
When he came the the hollow
Log.  He took in the rein
And over he went.  O
He was fine.

The log he just lay there, alone in 
The clearing.  No fox nor hound
Nor mounted man
Saw his black round eyes in their perfect disguise
(As the ends of a hollow
Log.) He watched death go through him,
Around him and over him.  O
He was wise.


--Donald Finkel, "Hunting Song"