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Coursing

A pale sun peering through clouds,
Casting broken rays of light on an enclosure,
Where a grey- brown mountain hare
Flees for his life, with frightful leaps,
Left, right, to and fro, backwards and forwards,
Chased by two whimpering greyhounds,
Their shadows growing and stretching,
Tongues protruding, frothing for the kill.
Motionless, I stood helpless, frightened
As that panting little quadruped,
Its furry body, teased, scared and then,
Caught between the pointed teeth of
Two blood thirsty greyhounds,
Who savagely tear skin from
Its furry aching neck.
Its hind legs ruptured from
Sockets of bone and flesh.
Yet the heart continued to beat
In a torn bisected body.
Its brain still functioned
In spite of pain and torture.
The agony of a long drawn out death.
At last beheaded and torn,
The remains of its mangled body,
Torn asunder by two prized hounds,
Applauded by shouts of joy and praise
From punters, who still declare
The hare died a pain less death.