One Fox in a Million

Sang the fox, 

With blood dripping from a hard nose, 

A nose curled in anger, 

And set upon the basis, 

Of its empty stomach. 

Sang the fox, 

“What else can I do?

I am all alone here, 

A shadow of life in the forest, 

Unseen and not heard from, 

I won’t reply to telephone calls, 

Or turn to talk when you call my name. 

What can I do with my nature, 

While nature all around me abounds?

The ground underfoot is growing fetid, 

My feet are growing cool, 

As the snow saunters along the curving hemispheres, 

Floating its ragged way here. 

This peaceful darling of the sky, 

Has no consideration for me.”

This fox, which I chased away, 

With my cumbersome eyes, 

If I were a louse and blind, 

Would it stay?

If only it could eat me!

That fox had me saying secret things, 

Hidden even from myself, 

Down trapdoors of the mind I dropped, 

This idea came back to me in dreams, 

But predaciousness does not linger, 

On my waking mind, 

The light merely shines through, 

The pale, slender fabric of the blinds. 


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