The Song of the Fox

The Song of the Fox
https://www.createspace.com/3683959

While mice beneath the meadows huddle

in the ground to well befuddle

many hungry beasts that roam,

at night returning to their homes

to wait upon the winter's chill,

inside of mountain and under hill,

warm and safe within their burrows

in the hillocks and the furrows,

or staring at the concrete sky,

wondering what it is to die:

While rivers surge with spring's icy foam,

a vixen leaves her home to roam;

a lovely orange fox, a lady,

she leaves her trio of orange babies,

she wanders distant from her den,

seeking rooster, goose, or hen.

She travels to the forest edge

and to the farm beyond the hedge.

Dim and sallow faced, the farmer

cocks his gun, intent to harm her.

Still drunken from the night before,

he props himself against the door.

He slowly raises rifle high,

whispering, "we all must die."

A golden finch that rides the wind

alerts the fox with startled hymn.

The farmer's bullets tear the air

and strike a copper kettle there.

With jaws upon the squirming hen,

she waves her tail, seeking then

the safety of the tangled forest,

while the human's filthy chorus

floats upon the valley wind,

into the vale she does descend.

She lays down among the trees,

and converses with roaming bee,

golden with ore, it says unto she,

"Who are you? I've come to see."

"a vixen," she breathes heavily,

"This hen is for my family.

At my den I'm feeding three,

near the boulder, in the lee."

The bee, she ponders, then replies

while buzzing noisily at her side,

"I shall tell them straight away

that you are coming home to stay,

that a meal is on its way,

and that the bullet missed today."

The fox is left alone in peace,

to rest and sample her paltry feast.

The fox does gnaw upon a bone,

today's mischief has been sown.

Night falls with belladonna sky.

Luna rises, ever high.

With shining eyes to aid her sight,

the fox heads home, into the night.

Vixen returns to cozy den,

the puppies feast upon the hen.

The pups who do not eat enough

suckle instead and soon are stuffed,

they dream of growing to be

chicken stealers, all three.

-- --

Three babies play outside the den.

The mother watches from within.

She sees again the little bee

who'd helped before so pleasantly.

"Tiny one please watch my young,

sing to them some songs you've sung,

watch them play down by the river,

follow them when they go hither.

The little bee did follow then,

three little foxes from their den

down unto the riverside,

the river flowing, ever wide.

The little foxes play and splash.

The bee is wary to keenly watch.

She sings a little song she knows,

of apple blossoms and little does,

when comes along an ugly man,

a man who kills because he can.

Lo and behold, the little bee

perches upon his nose to see

into his eyes, and decree:

"I stab at thee!"

Swearing loud the man does flee.

Sun high up, the vixen returns

with a cony, and in turns

the pups devour what is left.

The carcass they do toss and heft.

"What went on here, little bee?

It smells of human here to me,"

"Yes, a man did come along,

with his rifle, cold and long,

but I staved him with my sword

while he said an angry word.

The Vixen figures in her mind

to move the pups to somewhere kind,

where conies and mice are plentiful,

where food will keep their bellies full,

where, trying, man will never find,

a secret haven to which he is blind.

And so she does lead off the pups

that afternoon, with starts and stops.

She herds them 'cross the stony hills,

far away, and making kills

of little mice, here and there,

to feed the babies, worse for wear.

The foxes stop to sleep that night

in a cradle of roots, curled up tight,

they snuggle together against the night,

keeping warm, and out of sight.

Swooping owls, silent sentries,

raid at night the tangled pantries

and report to hidden vixen,

"You watch out, the farmer's fixin'

to hunt you down with many dogs

you'll not find peace in hollow log

nor solace in concealing root,

(is that the human's treading boot?)

a raven guide shall come for thee.

Follow him closely, you and your three.

Peering in the morning hours,

the raven waits in woody bower,

"You must wake and come with me,

to avoid a dreadful fate you see,"

The Vixen allies with the corvid

to avoid the vision morbid.

Wading in a shallow brook

they follow the brother of the rook.

When at the lake they do arrive,

the Raven says, "Swim while alive,

swim unto the island yonder.

When you get there do not wander.

The Faerie Queen does own the place.

You must seek permission and grace."

The vixen looks upon her babies

and at the island, distant, hazy.

Terror grows from deep inside her,

the distance expanding ever wider,

but it does constrict when courage

mows her fears like so much tillage.

She sets her brow

like an iron plow,

and speaks unto her little ones,

"little babes, this won't be fun.

we must go unto our fate,

before the hour gets too late.

Have courage, pups, and do not fear,

have a heart like brother bear.

Paddle hard and pace your strokes,

we must flee the human folks."

The night arrives and the moon has rose,

The raven flies over, watching who goes.

The three take steps into the lake,

swimming in their mother's wake.

They swim for hours and swim hard,

the vixen, caring, turns life guard,

a tired pup clings to her back,

her strength, however, begins to lack.

Although they were in terror some,

the pups this day do not succumb

to soggy grave, not this fell night.

Everyone fought the primal fight

against the cold, thick chill,

but the water does instill

an illness in the littlest one,

prone on the shore, as if shot by gun.

She prods him with her cold, black nose.

He looks up, irate to lose

this battle for his life to lake,

while fleeing the hunter's knife to make

a home upon the distant isle.

"Just stay alive a little while,"

she whispers softly in the night,

the little one does not hear her plight.

They huddle in darkness, cold and weary,

in grey grasses, vision bleary.

Raven flies by in spectral silence,

never forgetting his alliance,

he searches himself for something to say,

while seeking out the queen of the fey.

The raven meets the faerie queen,

who dressed in thistle, colored green,

remarks, in her phantasmal beauty,

appearing then to state quite cruelly,

"Bring them to me come the day,

because there is a due to pay."

And so, the raven flies away,

to bear the message, rather than stay.

The vixen wakes upon the morn,

darkness in her eyes forlorn,

but the night, it does not take

the runt's young life, nor does the lake.

The raven comes with graven word

"Here, there is no Faerie Lord,

the Faerie Queen says you must pay,

if I were you I might not stay,"

Her little one is failing fast,

but she has hope unto the last.

Mouth on neck, she adjusts her grip,

calls the others, sets off on the trip

to visit the ancient, legend'ry queen

of the faerie folk unseen.

The day does come unto an end.

Tired and hungry, unable to fend,

the little ones moan, one is catatonic.

The only relief is the gross beak's sonnet.

Guided by raven they finally arrive

at the bustling fairy hive.

The Queen is there in all her mischief,

daintily holding a white kerchief

of the finest spider's silk

and a cup of butterfly milk.

"What have you brought me, noble fowl?

The vixen then let out a growl:

"Speak to me and I will tell you

of dangers that befell me through

this journey from my home,

far beneath the sky's blue dome.

If you have a place for us

upon this island, then speak thus."

The Queen of faeries is took aback

by the vixen's proprietal lack,

but when she raises her hand to cast

faerie magic, a firey blast,

A deity of light

serious as night,

the Lord of Foxes does appear,

and fix the queen with steely stare.

the Canine Lord, he speaks with might,

and wisdom far beyond finite.

"How dare you threaten my vixen with flame,

Don't you recall when once you came

to me for council, cold and lame,

when the Lord of Faeries earned his fame,

hunting you like so much game

when you were but a younger dame?

Now he sits within my belly,

slowly turning into jelly.

That shall be your fate as well,

if these foxes you do kill."

When the queen speaks to the Lord,

She does so with careful, quiet word.

"This vixen, I see, is special to you,

I shall consider a lenient view.

"There is the issue of the price

for her to remain, and me to be nice:"

for me to heal the icy vice

that grips the runt. I'll be concise.

I think that I do need a mount

who can leap and play and pounce,

who is colored like blood moon,

who keeps their image in high groom,

if she can fill these roles for me,

she can roam upon my island free."

The Lord of Foxes does speak then

unto the vixen, "There is a fen

nearby I call my own,

where fae mischief is not sown,

where you can live in peace and she,

the Faerie Queen, will leave you be.

Know the Queen has bitter heart,

to help you, will she do her part?

You should have simply come to me,

little girl, you and your three.

This runt though, he has a fate,

I fear it is beyond death's gate."

She knows that she must join the fae

to save the runt, the only way.

"I love to leap and play and pounce,

my fur is orange to the ounce,

I am the prettiest fox around,

in me, a willing mount you've found."

The Fae Queen is then satisfied,

though a smile she does hide:

"I think it is quite settled then,

make your home within the glen.

Come to me upon full moon,

so that we may dance and swoon.

Come close and let me tend the pup.

The magic liquid in this cup

will heal him before his time has ended,

drink this draught and become mended."

Babies revive by faerie magic,

narrowly beyond the tragic,

the vixen sets off to the glen

to settle there her family in.

There is a comfy hollow log

waiting there, beside a bog

that's full of mice and frogs and conies,

fat and healthy, not too bony.

The vixen doth retire there,

and fix the earth with quiet stare.

How far I've come to get away.

This tranquil place is where I'll stay.

And for many moons, for years,

amidst great joy and salty tears,

the fox lived on in faerie glen,

and did not regret the fatted hen.