The White Pheasant

The hunt is on… But if anyone shoots the White pheasant: His purse will be lighter than none Then- if the shot was fired at a dull plain rival. It's a deliberate ploy to release this bird A decoy that's harem isn't established yet. His flirtation is to court a brush with death And survive not by wits but looks alone. Countless firearms closely-take-aim But do not fire. Till one shot rings out… Here manoeuvres-to-shoot our ghostly guide. Pausing, but only then to squeeze and shoot. You can be on watch for a cloud of feathers But danger-prowls-everywhere sooner Or later, and then the hut is on for you, too, And just like the White pheasant You'll meet your doom at the hands of Providence Lift your head beyond the next- white barren stile.