Sonnet To a Midnight Fox

Wretched fox, how you compel me to write! I hate the way you scavenge, shriek and prowl, Invading my mind through the humid night, With calls that drown out the melodic fowl. I liken your shrill voice to a harpoon: It is more sharp, strident and harsh Than crow flocks cawing in the gales of June, Or air baring scents of a rancid marsh. How do I hate you? I shall list the ways. I hate your ginger fur and charcoal snout. Thinking of your horrid shout fills my days With woe: ‘tis your call which caused this fallout. Oh dearest fox, I must sleep without fright So please ponder these verses this fine night.