Vixen

Once it was
alive, a vibrant soul
enjoying life
and then a hunters bullet
in seconds caused it strife

so much so
its thoughts its vision
its memory was lost
it only had its instinct
that had been the cost

and that vile stupid bullet
that climax, and that end
of what was truly beautiful
our little furry friend

now lying on the snowy waste
panting as life passed
pain the pain of leaving
her loved ones
coming fast

in the agony of knowing
that in the earth somewhere
her cubs now would be restless
probably aware

but blatantly alone
their life too ending
in the time
it took to live a whole life
and from the great pit climb

eyes closing, breath diminishing
a soul departs this earth
eyes glazed and in that instance
all of life’s great worth

suddenly just silence
her body though intact
but all life had escaped it
that was the mean fact

up comes the sick assassin
rifle at his side
picks up the lifeless body
and skins it, for the hide

and fur he wants that quality
the rest he casts aside
the great lactation force
is thrown
its power alas denied

The cubs will now be retching
huddled in the earth
how much they want that warm
sweet milk
for them it had great worth

but instead its leaking quietly
into, the cold snow
death came very suddenly
for the cubs it will be slow

“that will fetch a goodly sum
I will use the head as well
she had quite pretty features
shame she’s now in hell”

“when its treated
washed and hung
It might be stitched into
a lovely coat
for someone who will
cherish it life through”

made up of the dead souls
the tortured souls
but still
a coat that could fetch
thousands
for the blood that it did spill

it could fit into a great coat
possibly among
the greatest ever
and be worn
by some film star
nothing wrong

the hunter sees some money
nothing else he sees
he cares not for the mother
and knows not, for her babies

Nature doesn’t means a thing
that’s not what he does
he points his rifle at what ever
and gets that special buzz

seeing it collapse and fall
and watching as it dies
he hangs on that experience
and that fire he applies

he’s happy with it
no consoling factors in his heart
he couldn’t feel the pain at all
he couldnt even start

to go down that road, ever
its his work its his time
he kills fur bearing creatures
and gets them in their prime

if in good condition
the payback he gets is why
and that pays for his
cigarettes
and his whisky
to get high

and famous starlets
probably now wear
some of his kills
what do they know of
animals
and the blood he spills

they want the mink
they want the fox
the cat walk raised
the game
designers big designers
its ego and its fame

her head will be draped
around the shoulder
of some hag who feels
more beautiful
with a dead head
I’m aghast at what appeals

to some and how they manage
to walk about each day
showing off the dead head
of a vixen that did lay

panting in the snow that day
knowing her cubs would die
frantically alone with it
not understanding why

and now her head is draped
around the shoulders
as some hag with her fox bag
in her hand
runs the gamut of anxious onlookers
which sadly no body
can understand

There was a fox
an actual fox caught in in a locking trap
all this played out yesterday
and she will become a wrap

her cubs have died most probably
like her before their time
but nobody remembers them
but they will now with this rhyme