Hound and Hunter

Tracy Smith sent this poem in all the way from North Carolina. The author Russell Hoban is best known for his children books about Frances. He was born in Lansdale.

Hound and Hunter
 
Well, I had a dog, and his name was Clock, 
And the sound he made was Tick Tick Tock Haroooo!

And we hunted minutes in the daytime thickets, 
In the hills of night and the songs of crickets, 
And he howled at the moon, Haroooo!

And I wound him up with a big brass key, 
And nobody knew his name but me, 
For he slipped in and out of the empty spaces 
Where the shadows live who have no faces, 
And he bayed the hours in a voice of black, 
And he barked and he belled as he kept the track 
Of the days that ran with their ears laid back.
Good boy, Clock! Hark to Clock! Haroooo!

And he licked my hand when the hunt was done, 
And he sniffed at the smell of my smoking gun, 
And he trotted home with his tail held high, 
And he howled the moon down out of the sky, Haroooo!

Then he learned to run without the key,
And he changed his hunting, and hunted me.
And he hunted me out of childhood's thickets 
To the fields of dawn and silent crickets, 
And he bayed on my trail with his voice of black, 
And I ran, ran, ran, but he kept the track 
Til I left the fields and swam the river 
To the other side, where I stand and shiver 
With my clothes all wet, and my clothes too small, 
For I've grown too old, and I've grown too tall, 
And I'll never go back again at all.

And far away on the ridge of day
I can hear him bark, I can hear him bay, 
And I hear another hunter say, 
Good boy, Clock! Hark to Clock! Harooo!