He had been seen.
There was no doubt when eyes so keen
As theirs were searching for him.

Thoughts in turmoil, flight the theme, away he sped toward the stream
Which, like a shiny, silvery coil, along the valley bottom flowed.
Twisting, turning, running wild, like a startled, frightened child.
Plunging down, through grass and fern. In his wide eyes, panic showed.

He reached the stream and paused to think, did he have time to risk a drink?
He dropped his head and took a draught of water cool, then came the sound
Of barking dog with wagging tail, the hunt was close upon his trail.
With movement swift he left the stream and gained the bank, more solid ground.

But now his fleeing feet left marks, pursued by dogs with blood-lust barks
And yaps and yelps. And still he ran, hoping to outrun the pack.
Like a hurtling, whistling spear, terror filled, possessed by fear
Ever forward, blindly on, not daring to look back.

In headlong flight he reached the trees which swayed and murmured in the breeze
His body heaved- he gasped for breath, he gulped the air, God give him strength
His speed had gained him time it seemed, could this be true? perhaps he dreamed-
Fast on the heels of thought came noise, the hunt was close, his stride took length.

Like an arrow from bow released, away he flew, all time had ceased
It seemed the whole world held its breath beholding his desperate fight for life.
One last hopeful sprint he made, he tore through sheltered, leafy glade
Bounded over field and road, he longed for peace, an end to strife.

His body now was racked with pain, his fading strength pursuers gain
He knew the end was very close and instinct turned him to the beach
His aching feet now left the land, to waters edge he limped, through sand
The hounds were snapping at his feet, they sensed he was within their reach,

He stopped and turned to look at them, and they in turn, stood still-
With weary, beaten spirit now, he waited for the kill.
Then, in that mighty, gentle heart, there stirred a fluttering pride,
A rapid turn he made and quickly plunged into a wave
The water cold and strong the tide, he swam with all his might,
majestic head with antler crowned, defied the hunt then sank from sight.
The choice was his. Life's race was run- with dignity and peaceful heart he sought his watery grave.

And they had seen.
There was no doubt, when hate so keen as theirs, had tortured him
Even unto Death.
Poor weary, noble Stag. A victim of the Chase.