See there marches Orion
With Sirius close at his feet
Tarrying not long in the air
To begin the midnight hunt.

His quickened breath congeals –
His boots crunch the fallen snow –
His eyes attempt to discern
Between tree and furtive shadow.

Mark the occasion and time
Of this harvest moon's fair
And note the dog's primal talent
For smelling blood and fear

Not to bring down a mighty elk
To quarter and tan its hide –
What they instead come upon
Is Aries in a clearing field.