They circle and dart in the fading light,
The hunter calls out, the runners take flight,
The chase is reborn with the fall of night.
The field is alive with a wild delight,
Feet drum the earth as they vanish from sight;
They circle and dart in the fading light.
A voice rings sharp—yet the prey’s still in sight,
They twist and they tumble, they feint left, then right;
The chase is reborn with the fall of night.
Children and shadows make rivals tonight,
Branches reach out, though the moon is still bright;
They circle and dart in the fading light.
The touch is a crown, the swift turn the fight,
Now hunter becomes who just fled in fright;
The chase is reborn with the fall of night.
Endless it seems, yet it burns ever bright—
The rhythm, the laughter, the pure, fleeting rite.
They circle and dart in the fading light,
The chase is reborn with the fall of night.
-
Author:
Matthew R. Callies (
Offline) - Published: March 31st, 2026 08:32
- Comment from author about the poem: Blackthorn is a tag-like game played in the UK. For more context visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_bulldog_%28game%29#Blackthorn
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- In collections: Sports Poetry.
Offline)
Comments1
It all becomes clear with the author's note. A wonderful poetic frolic where childhood is relived. Very nicely written
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