A long Netting one -
He makes his way through cold dark fields, the wind his only friend
Coney thoughts upon his mind, will he get one at the end
First pin in, lines pulled tight, he walks with skill and care
But little does old Poacher know, if Coney he is there
He bants the field and crosses back, old poacher starts to run
For the squeal of Coney he can hear, at least he’s now got one
Indeed its there, he feels it move, supper has arrived
He hanks his net, and hazel pegs, for one Coney he has strived
But none the less does poacher care, for it’s the gift