The old wood gate swings wide and off she goes
she lifts her nose to sniff the autumn breeze
The bluebirds call, she looks as if she knows
Tail high, ears up, eyes wide, the hunt brings glee

And now the sun beats down from high above
She seeks some shade beneath the old oak tree
The leaves float down like feathers of a dove
All the small creatures hide so she can’t see

A small round ball sits lonely in the weeds
She spots it from the corner of her eye
A hop, she jumps so high as if to lead
Me clearly over to her well fought prize

I smile and throw the ball with all my might
She bounds toward the hunt and then takes flight