Day after Boxing Day

A still grey morning
Seemingly birds roosting elsewhere
Seems to me
Christmas lights
In gardens shine divinity is on the line
Out in the forest
Less cars be
People still at home
And we
Who normally would drive somewhere
Are resting
Even less aware
Out in the woods
Peace reigns high
Winters realm doth clearly lie
Wild souls scamper too and fro
The hunting people’s numbers grow
Tanked up on the sparkling wine
It’s the sun that doesn’t shine
Congregate and hunt for Hares
Hunt for Fox however rare
It’s what drives the fickle mind
Sober never underlined
Do they ponder on the Hare
Do they ponder on the Deer
Mindfully who venture out
Unknowingly of what’s about
The snorting hounds
The grubbing scent
Cracking whips and hounds in flight
Hopeful of a bloodied bite