1. What pleasure for a man if ranks elevate him,
Except for hunting, wherein lies wondrous delight.

2. Its silver anklets chime as it takes flight,
September is nigh, the hunt is on, let us grab

3. Fierce hawks that claw at the necks of prey.
For the loyal, they are the best they have sought,

4. Hunting holds meaning that lions have grasped.
So stick to it, our times of bliss are renewed,

5. The Hijlan clan has bloodied them, so rely
On hawks that shred veils with their piercing sight.

6. Doves with white breasts and sturdy backs have fled,
Their talons victorious over every winged breed.

7. What splendid hawks they are, arrows sped
From every polished horn that has appeared,

8. Adorned of chest, captivating all enchained.
Smooth of head, pure of hue,

9. Flared of tail, exquisite to view,
Streamlined wings lifted high,

10. Perched atop the trainer’s hand, radiant to eye,
Like the dawn robed in a gown of gloom’s device.

11. Short of leg, sharp of beak, vigorous,
Claws like Indian swords, voracious,

12. Long of eyelash, pleased, spacious,
Glimpsed as she swoops with force prodigious,

13. Outstripping her peers like lightning in the dusk.
Through them, companion, what chances we have seized,

14. To free the heart of anxiety and grief.
What tales of glory they have for the valiant piece,

15. Two cranes once, you sent upon the hunt,
Like the moon launched from the horizon’s hem.