Misty words billow in the cold Pluming from their mouths Quiet swearing and first *** coughing They walk close to hedgerows Kicking the dew from the grass As birds squabble over breakfast And mushrooms are still socialising They whistle the dogs to heel All panting and wagging tails Stirring the dawn damp air For happy is the early dog In these sumptuous fields
Now the business of dawn begins Low sharp commands are uttered Bringing the younger bounding learners To a proper sense of purpose And that high-toned cross breed The sleek and swift lurcher Is eternally proud and primed This long-sprint racer Takes inevitable chase Without sentiment or concious cruelty An ancient craft is practised here With the dogs at dawn