As the fox knocked persistently at the gate,
To save his hide ‘fore it’s too late,
The chicken guarding, stood his ground,
For the fox was sneaky he had found.
‘I’m sorry’ the chicken said out loud,
‘I guard this pen to which I’m vowed,
To keep predators like you at bay
No matter what you do or say!’
‘But I will die’ the fox replied,
Though I understand you must abide.
The hounds will maul me, kill me dead
Yet it could easily be you instead.’
‘For the hounds might break down this door,
In a rush to see me on the floor,
Rip you apart limb by limb,
A prospect that is pretty grim.’
The bugle sound was nearing fast,
The fox not having long to last.
But the chicken feared his comrades hide
So the foxes wish he did abide.
With several chickens in his mouth,
The fox left swiftly heading south.
Peculiarly towards the sound
Of the bugle now becoming loud.
The bugler played the hunt cry theme,
As the fox arrived at the scene.
Yet he was not in the least afraid
For the chickens trust he had betrayed.
A bugle placed upon the ground
Saw a vixen happy to be found.
She’d played the horn with all her might
In the silence of that evening night.
Copyright © Ronald D Thompson | Year Posted 2019
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