30/10/2025
A Halloween C**n Hunt, from our Pondholler Family to Yours....
Every leaf was quiet, the mountain air was still.
We sat washed by moonlight in the shallow of a hill.
The men boasted humbly and listened for the sound,
The cheery ringing singing of the baying of the hounds.
The dew had settled on us and set our joints to cramp.
We shifted knees, we kneaded hands to rid them of the damp.
The stars were slowly flickering around the sinking moon
When the hound sound softly whispered of the treeing of the c**n.
We splashed through numbing mountain streams, we trampled through the brush
We'd almost reached our singing hounds when came a sudden hush.
We paused and strained to listen but the noises in our ears
Pumped with blood and silence and the echoes of our fears.
We tramped the woods til dawning when we found a broken trail.
It led us to an empty oak within a barren vale.
Here they'd sung their treeing song and leapt with eager bounds
But the path that led us left the vale without the track of hounds.
We never found our haunted hounds though we searched the bracken rills
But when the moon hangs glowing, throwing shadows from the hills
A phantom pack goes running and it sings a ghostly tune
And eerie ringing baying as they tree a ghostly c**n.
(Song lyrics by Sarah Irwin, (c) 1968)
