Twenty-first Century Gothic

How nice it is that we may hunt

One or two of me in these woods.

I’m very hard to catch. That’s what

We always say and when we catch

One of me well we just scream.

We say other things but the trees

And I don’t listen. The trees don’t

Hear of course and me I’m running

Lickety-split. I don’t look back.

That’s why I don’t know what we say.