The Fox
Moonlight glistens on snow
and he's stalking,
slyly slinking, belly-cresting
coverts to the coop.
Silence his canopy,
hugging the hedgerows
to safeguard his cover,
there's death in his eyes.
Silence is shattered,
the virgin snow blood-spattered;
no mercy is shown
and no quarter given.
Silence settles again,
he retires, hunger sated;
he'll forage again when
his craving dictates.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2015
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