You prowl and sniff the air around your pack,
With outsized ears you wear just like a crown
Atop a cloak of matted, mottled brown;
The silence summons heckles on your back.
You take the centre stage for your attack,
And outline plans to raid the nearest town;
You prowl and sniff the air around your pack,
With outsized ears you wear just like a crown.
Your kingdom cannot cope with a setback,
You listen for that common nasal noun.
A-tishoo! A tishoo! The hunt falls down.
Ascendancy now broken by the flak,
You prowl and sniff the air around your pack.
A tough crowd (Photo Credit: Amanda Black).
This is a Rondel, inspired
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