Hi Thomas and friends! Great stories here, and I love the picture of all the chocolates! Here's a poem for you:
THE OLD HUNTSMAN
by: Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930)
 HERE'S a keen and grim old huntsman
- On a horse as white as snow;
- Sometimes he is very swift
- And sometimes he is slow.
- But he never is at fault,
- For he always hunts at view
- And he rides without a halt
- After you.
-
- The huntsman's name is Death,
- His horse's name is Time;
- He is coming, he is coming
- As I sit and write this rhyme;
- He is coming, he is coming,
- As you read the rhyme I write;
- You can hear the hoof's low drumming
- Day and night.
-
- You can hear the distant drumming
- As the clock goes tick-a-tack,
- And the chiming of the hours
- Is the music of his pack.
- You may hardly note their growling
- Underneath the noonday sun,
- But at night you hear them howling
- As they run.
-
- And they never check or falter
- For they never miss their kill;
- Seasons change and systems alter,
- But the hunt is running still.
- Hark! the evening chime is playing,
- O'er the long grey town it peals;
- Don't you hear the death-hound baying
- At your heels?
-
- Where is there an earth or burrow?
- Where a cover left for you?
- A year, a week, perhaps to-morrow
- Brings the Huntsman's death halloo!
- Day by day he gains upon us,
- And the most that we can claim
- Is that when the hounds are on us
- We die game.
-
- And somewhere dwells the Master,
- By whom it was decreed;
- He sent the savage huntsman,
- He bred the snow-white steed.
- These hounds which run for ever,
- He set them on your track;
- He hears you scream, but never
- Calls them back.
-
- He does not heed our suing,
- We never see his face;
- He hunts to our undoing,
- We thank him for the chase.
- We thank him and we flatter,
- We hope -- because we must --
- But have we cause? No matter!
- Let us trust!
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