On Sunday the hawk fell on Bigging
   And a chicken screamed
   Lost in its own little snowstorm.
And on Monday he fell on the moor
   And the field club
   Raised a hundred silent prisms.
And on Tuesday he fell on the hill
   And the happy lamb
   Never knew why the loud collie straddled him.
And on Wednesday he fell on a bush
   And the blackbird
   Laid by his little flute for the last time.
And on Thursday he fell on Cheat
   And peerie Tom’s rabbit
   Swung in a single arc from shore to hill.
And on Friday he fell on a ditch
   But the questing cat,
   That rivel, rampant, fluttered his flame.
And on Saturday he fell on Bigging
   And Jock lowered his gun
   And nailed a small wing over the corn.