To do this to such a thing
that was, this morning, so fine a thing,
so red and real a thing, so running free
a thing;
to do this thing to such a thing
so that now, this evening, it is no more
a thing than a mud-mangled thing,
bedraggled thing, its eyes popped out
as if on springs, a cartoon thing, a wrecked
and torn and bone-broken thing, its entrails
trailing as the thing is held up, bowel hanging
out like a string of chipolata things.
From a sunning itself thing,
russet light-catching thing, young-rearing thing,
to a red running thing, over-blown, worn down,
chased-to-ground thing.
Eyes on stalks. Heart thrown to the dogs.

This poem is by QCA member Fiona Owen,  from Going Gentle (Gomer).

The poem has been sent to David Cameron on behalf of QCA, in time for the vote to amend the Hunting Act at noon on Wednesday 15th July.