Fox day

They are a worldliness
A true incarnation
Wild as the winds
That can blow
With a notion
To call on the cosmos
In so many ways
Heavenly bodies
Who won’t stop to amaze

Anointed with wisdom
Vital and true
Living in Gods earth
Mortal all through
Up against monsters
The hunting brigade
All pumped with ego
And pink lemonade

Intoxication
And hearts tough as wood
Riding and kicking their horses
Not good
We need more of them
To be thrown in the mud
Tarnished with funghi
And leaking their blood

A day to remember
The foxes who run
The forested paths
Aware of the gun
Of the ignorant squirrel men
Terriers too
Trained up to murder
It’s what they do

The smell of the trees
Of the cover grass where
Many a fox will run
So aware
Of the stench that is following
The galloping breed
Whipping and gripping
And nipping at speed

Insensitive creeps
Oblivious too
What foxes can pick up
On the morning dew
Their brand of telepathy
Tender and raw
The pleasure of family
No fox doth ignore

They walk with pure silence
Each moment they feel
The ugly banter
The hound dogs for real
Coughing and spluttering
Gasping for air
The clamour and chatter
And whining they share

An amazing memory
For paths of escape
Through thistle and Holly
And gorse their bold shape
Descends into holes
Into, inky spheres
Out through the churchyard
He gallops my dears

Fox day it’s fox day
The sab angels friends
Who value privacy
When the curtain descends
Hiding, in hiding
Sequestered and gone
Eclipsed by their ignorance
Now out upon

The plain through the grasses
Off up the hill
Each patchwork of clover and thistles
To still
The heartbeat a moment
Then across the wood
A flash of crimson
And foxy gone

He will sleep with his lady
Likely upon
A soft wispy willow
Boughs of dark fluff
Curled up in a tangle
Knowing enough
Of the dangers externally
And the dark side
Of life in the forest