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A fox, behind next door's laylandii,

Basks in the mid-morning sun

Oblivious to the cats which run

Close to his spot, or chance to catch his eye;

For he knows that spring is on the wind,

Food comes scurrying to be caught

Nights are mild and females aught

To be prepared for what he has in mind.

The gloss upon his coat and black tipped ears

Suggests the winter has been mild;

No mange has sapped nor dearth beguiled

His readiness to find a mate this year.

And we who watch him from the kitchen door

Admire the grandeur of his pose

As, at the unheard cue, he goes

The sacred way all foxes went before.

Brian Hick March 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 4.3.24