Deep down in a wood, between the trees and bush,
By the creek and the roots, where the rabbits fought,
Near the lumberjack’s house and a cottage or two,
Was a fox, its offspring, and a starving thought.
The large fox thought, Damn the cold and wind,
These sinned foes of nature dare reside in my wood,
My offspring may be starving, and yet with this,
Mother Earth mocks me with all she could.
Curse beyond the frightening weather across here,
If I’ve the chance, I’d rip their bodies to a shred,
I’d free my offspring from the cold and the hunger,
Thought the larger fox, as he tucked in his body and head.
The small fox, however, thought not of the cold,
Nor the lack of warmth or food across them all,
Instead, he thought of the fine powdery snow around,
And the rhythmic wind gusts, and the robin’s call.
For, he thought in his head, this was a time,
This was a time where nature expresses mood,
No matter weather, the den would be my sun,
Forget hunger, the landscape would be my food.
So instead of a frail son, the large fox expected,
A frail son, huddling against winter’s might,
Instead was a peaceful son, sleeping in peace,
And all spite died, as both slept into the night.
Shiven Year 7
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