We arrived at the barn of Copper Beech farm
My wife turned her head, looked over and said:
“Today’s the joint meet, and they have to look neat.”
So joining our forces, we washed both the horses.
“His shoe looks quite loose”, to Susan said Bruce, upon inspecting the gray.
“My sport horse from Ireland, must ride as we had planned, and all without further delay.”
With time running short, Susan poured me some port.
Of my port took a swig, then hooked up the rig,
With no time to be idle, we put on each bridle.
And never forget, to bring a hair net!
Her sidesaddle there, in need of repair, she left at the barn “What a sin!”
She would just have to straddle, a modern-day saddle, much to her shame and chagrin.
A summertime heat, at the start of the meet, too hot for the first of November
The field stretched out long, one hundred horse strong, creating a sight to remember.
As we came to the river, Angela started to quiver,
It was exactly right here, that she fell in last year.
But our good friend the Swede, upon her white steed,
Went straight through the trough, without falling off.
Past Waldingfield barn, to Appleton Farm,
We followed the hounds, on beautiful grounds.
I surveyed the scene from high on my saddle,
There were acres sheep, and acres of cattle.
Crossing the border from Ipswich to Hamilton,
I was wearing the coat of Colonel F. Appleton.
The hounds found the scent, and off they all went.
And away we were gone, as the field galloped on.
The first jump we came to had very few takers,
but was the only jump there, of 600 acres.
My pride would not let me go ‘round that jump,
And off the shoe came with a clang and a thump
Through briar and mire, Susan cantered on Flyer,
With one shoe now gone, Pride soldiered on.
Upon reaching the street, I inspected his feet,
I was now at a barrier, thanks to the farrier.
“Pride’s lost a shoe”, Bruce said to Sue, “so I’m taking him back to the stable.”
“That just won’t be”, she said to me, “That option is not on the table.”
She said, “I love you of course, so please take my horse.
This is a problem that I want to solve.”
I said, “I won’t take your mount, on that you can count.
I am a gentleman filled with resolve.”
I tried to be gracious, but she was tenacious, demanding immediate switch
I should just be polite, rather than fight, the will of a red-headed …lady.
After losing the battle, I yanked off my saddle, feeling like a rotten spouse
On Flyer the bay, my old Selle-Francais, I trotted to Groton House.
A quick glance revealed, I had long lost the field,
And now was confronted, with what to be hunted.
So we flew down the lane, with wind in his mane,
With the field having gone, the hunt was now on!
I then heard a beep, from an old army Jeep.
Could I use Special Forces, to locate the horses?
I offered some brandy, to Sarah and Randy,
Then fortunate happenstance, they provided reconnaissance!
Like a soldier’s defection, I reversed my direction and headed toward Arbella Farm,
Pursuing my task, I holstered my flask, more potent than any side arm.
I rode to the ridge, crossed the river by bridge,
I listened then I, heard the bark of full cry.
I soon heard more sounds, and then came the hounds.
I got there in time. The hunt was now mine!
Then something awry, caught my left eye
Dripping water on the fields of Arbella,
Came Angela Corning aboard Donatella.
Her boots full to the brim, having gone for a swim, while fording across to the farm.
How could one guess, her lack of success? The second time wasn’t a charm!
Now back with the hunt, I went to the front,
I led a large group, over ditches and coop.
I rode my old steed, through forest and mead,
We galloped and cantered and nobody bantered.
And we did not yield, ‘til we came to Scott’s field,
Then I patted his neck as we stopped for a check.
I had such a good ride, but was missing my bride,
With a boot to his flank, we jumped up the bank.
When I came to the end, I saw my dear friend,
She was not only beautiful, but generous and dutiful.
And topping it all, was a grand old hunt ball.
There was never a time, that she looked more sublime.
…and that is the end of my rhyme.