THE
FOX AND THE GRAPES
In Greece, in summer
time, the foxes find
They love the taste
of full grapes, sunrich-ripe,
That hang among lush
leaves. I have in mind
A fox, once dry and
famished, who would like
To reach moist,
purple bunches hung on high,
High on their vines-
too high for him to gnaw.
He leaps; he misses;
takes another try,
And snaps his jaws
in vain. He tries once more
And then again and
then again. At last
He gives up, hotter
still and all worn out.
"These grapes,"
he thinks, "are not the highest class.
I'm sure they would
be sour- I have no doubt!"
And so,
because he cannot get them now,
They're sour!
He wouldn't want them anyhow!
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