Foxtrot

A quiet night beneath the stars,
No clouds in sight, a view of mars.
A fox awakes, the night is hers,
For food and frolic, before all stirs.

From her den she does exhume,
Through dug tunnel, to the moon,
Mouth agape, yawn to share,
Into night, into air.


Waking done, the hunt is on,
She takes all in, fore marching on.
Under hedgerow, over wall,
Our vixen stalks, at a crawl.

Cunning guile: a trap is set,
Pouncing frame: the game is met.
In rejoice, the catch is hers,
“No scraps tonight”, she keenly purrs.


Freedom now, time to dance,
A wild twirl, a playful prance.
Night ablaze, sky her crowd,
Red coat gleaming, moonlight shroud.

Bushy tail, pointed face,
Solo foxtrot, full of grace.
Dancing there ’til morning choir,
Dusk and twilight passing by her.


So it is, that night is done,
Final bound to hole, in one.
One last look upon the day;
Sunlight rays chase dark away.

Underground, as golden rises,
In her burrow, sleep reprises.
One last thought: what a night!
Fade to dream, out of sight.

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