Where The Church Bells Do Not Ring
A fox cub ventures out of his den
For the first time on a pretty Sunday morning.
He should not have left.
On these days, when church bells ring out,
All is silent in the forest—
There is always peace.
The trees—tall and swaying—
Make the fox cub nervous,
But he has other things to fear.
In the distance, the church bells do not ring;
The fox does not detect their gentle harmony
That reaches his ears so sweetly,
Like a lullaby to rock him to sleep.
Instead, he detects a cacophony of explosions—
There is evil just around the corner.
Yet, the fox cub is too young to know
What is right and what is wrong,
So he walks towards the curious sound
Until he is belly-deep in mud
And he can’t walk any further.
Now, the crashes are all around;
His fight or flight tells him to run,
But, as much as he pulls and pulls,
He is in vain—
He will never leave this spot again.
One day,
The soldiers might find his body:
Frozen stiff and plastered with the thick
Mud they have all come to despise.
Perhaps they will take pity on the small creature
And give him a warm bath
To show him some kindness in such a cruel world.
Maybe, then, they will cradle him
To keep him warm
Throughout the brutality of winter
That he did not live to experience.
Perhaps, the mother fox
Still calls for her son
When the light hits on Sunday mornings.
She calls in case there is a chance
She may see him again—
To curl up around him and keep him close
With her tail—
But her never answers her desperate pleas,
And she knows. She knows.
Copyright © Amelie Ison | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment