The lone, isolated fox,
Sits carefully on that cardboard box,
Afraid that he will break it
By movement or a sudden flit.
His eyes travel slowly
Across the crisp and snowy
Clean blanket of white
As it startles any hidden delight.
For when he is sure,
He gracefully changes his posture,
As he sees a little brown
Rabbit way far down.
A pounce is all it takes,
To snatch the rabbit and it's aches,
For now the fox is content,
Yet only for a slight minute.
YOU ARE READING
Words +
PoetryA teeny tiny book filled with strange and unusual poetry written by yours truly
