FIRST FOX

FIRST FOX

Over neighboring, winter-wet paddocks you passed,
Hunting-hungry from shelter in hills after rain,
Just the flash of a form, like a swift, orange flame,
Just so fugitive, furtive and feral and fast,
That at first eyes might miss it, except that on green
That burnt color is startling; a shape lithe and lean,
With your bushy, bright brush.

Though you’re classed as invader,
As mere vermin, unwanted, a sly chicken-raider,
You’re so poised in alertness, and ready to act,
That I cannot help feeling a certain respect,
As you vanish in silence like a leaf on the wind;
First fox that I’ve seen since I’ve lived on this land.