The hart runs to and fro, it's antlers like a spear.
The hounds go to and fro to try and catch the deer.
A miracle it seems, the hart is beginning to rally.
Freedom is near, but it forgets the dog has an ally;
the Hunter comes, the arrow flies, the strike is swift and true.
the deer falls to the ground and the dogs gather round, the Hunter has
his due.


Upon the ground, the deer looks up, it's eyes are becoming glass
"Why must I die?" is the plaintive cry, and the head falls to the grass.
"It's for the rhythm, the deer must fall."
The Hunter's answer is kind.
"For as the Rhythm flows, one day the hunter will become the hind."

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Lleian, in the year 394 MA.