I sit upon a fallen log at dusk's end, in dawns early chill,
silently watching mornings fog roll slowly down the hill.
A figure slowly forms from mist o'er near the trees,
frozen in tense muscled mid-flight staring warily now at me.
Dear fox you see me now as I, with my eyes, acknowledge you,
lower'd head flicks his ear, vanishing, no chance to say adieu.
A gathering of swallows twitter and start their awakened cries,
their numbers now grown, fluttering, then burst to morning skies.
Oh bright day comes soon and I have had my mornings reverie,
bringing memories along with me as I greet this day with glee.