Through shadowed forests of old Normandy,
The Norman Hound once threaded swift and keen,
A master of the hunt, in history.
Its amber eyes glinted through the leafy green,
Muscles coiled for chase across the plain,
A breed unmatched, yet now no longer seen.
Through bramble, stream, and wind-swept rain,
It followed stag and boar with measured grace,
A legend held in memory’s faint chain.
The chronicles mark each bold, silent pace,
Illustrations capture furrowed brow and snout,
Echoes of a hound that time cannot replace.
Though centuries have drawn its life about,
Its spirit lingers where the hunters roamed,
A shadowed echo, noble beyond doubt.