The Fox

The Fox

The fox stares with beady eyes

Around the corner, he is waiting

Clinging hopefully for the tipping

Claiming the east

To get to his lairing feast.

Food is his gem

His family urging him

Hunting

Living in harsh

And rash ways

The fox will never lose a sighting

When fighting to live his days.

Laying in the heated sun

Sprawling his legs a wide

He is sleeping for a while

Resting before the mating

Willing him to be.

The evening arrives

He goes off with his family

Gathering together

Waiting, watching, listening

For the peaceful night

And the darkness

Arriving imminently.

The howling begins

The roaring within

Disturbing the people

Knocking over dustbins

Awakening the street

With their running

Spinning, dipping, slipping,

Cats screaming

Hurtling about

Playing a game

With foxes

Spying, fouling, sprawling

Rowing.

The quieting finally arrives

The sun is rising

As daylight morning

Delivers yawning.

Scuttling of foxes

Scurrying away

They hitherto a place

Hiding silently

Sleeping in their space

Until the moon arrives

And the fox learns

His slinking, blinking, drinking,

Timing

Is how his life

Will roll

Once again.