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After the kill, there is the feast.
And toward the end, when the dancing subsides
and the young have sneaked off somewhere,
the hounds, drunk on the blood of the hares,
begin to talk of how soft 
were their pelts, how graceful their leaps,
how lovely their scared, gentle eyes.


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Added: 2 Mar 2003 | Last Read: 9 Sep 2026 7:07 AM | Viewed: 5893 times

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