Foxy

the Fox

wild crimson

earth man

crazy runner He

confident

a brazen heart

full of certainty

the vixens choice

would’st he be

her anchor her mainstay

an aspirant

a warrior

and all of come what may

starry-eyed

on pavements trod

the caddie bins

where was his God

a buoyant lad

propitiously

always cheerful

seems to me

the downland walk

the wooded vale

thrice through the woods

across the trail

passed the  old cottage

where we see

the caddies left remarkably

chicken skin

and  barbecue,   ribs

potato skins there be

smokey sausages

why not try

to crack the bones

and hope to ply

back across the road to where

a party happened

the odd chair

scattered up turn

cakes and beer

sticky pop

some wasps had been  here

getting light now

urgently

and the crows

are looking  down on me.