The Fox

The Fox
 
A brown fox hopped through the feather dense snow
in the frigid night, he scampered away.
Under a leaden sky pierced by the moon
that frisky brown fox frolicked out to play.
 
The fox romped out on a chilly white night
on a chilly white night, he roamed and ranged.
The fox roamed out through the chilly bright night
beneath the magic of the moon, he changed.
 
He shed his coat in the glitter of night
beneath the spell of the full frozen moon.
His sloughed coat changed to ephemeral white
as he frisked into dusk of the blue afternoon.
 
He crouched from the overhead shadow wings
and burrowed fast into chilly white snow.
Where the eagle swoops and the bluebird sings
the Fox shared roots with the weeping willow.
 
A white-white fox feathered deep into snow
as he regarded the bluing bright moon
he closed his eyes, with his head tilted up,
knowing indigo night would end too soon.
 
The smile on his face as he faced that sky
while he winked at the moon and barked goodbye
while the sparkling snow fell fast from the sky
was like magic ~ and I uttered a sigh.
 
Now the white fox hops through feather deep snow
in the warmth of sun, he steals clean away.
Under a blue sky mottled with fat clouds
a frisky white fox bounces out to play.


 
by Barbara Helvey Hughes, 2020