EXHAUSTED YOUNG FOX
Hah, how easily he once more shook
the dumb dogs off his heels. His tongue
gleams moistly like this currant bush.
How his weak flank quivers from that brisk
trot, the chill of fear still in his belly. His family
he left quiet in a sleep-filled lair, the cub
softly against his vixen. How the fox longs
for her warm small body. But in the dusk
the distant baying of the hounds holds him in
dense shrub yet awhile. This is my wood, these are
my trees. Just keep off all my lovely sunken paths,
the fox thinks. Yearning for long russet dreams.
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