Fox's Angel

The hunters plague the forest,
The rabbits scurry into their burrows,
Awakening owls,
And alerting the sparrows.
Stronger animals stay put,
Not afraid to fight,
But the foxes scurry to their den,
Scared for their life.

The leader of the hunt,
A man over six feet tall,
Shoulders his rifle,
And contemplates the fall forest.
The leaves are in all shades of red,
The pools of water contain all shadows of gray,
And the woods remain silent,
And the hunters wish they knew who was the prey.

Perhaps wolves are creeping up,
After all, just last week a pack destroyed an entire Indian hut,
Or perhaps those noises are just birds,
Restless in the trees.

The foxes dare not breath,
As they sense the hunt approaching,
Knowing the end could well be near,
Silently brooding their finale,
Entrusting their lives to their silence,
As their instinct tells them to hide,
And by that one, primary common sense,
They have so far survived.

The leader suddenly stops,
And says with an air "Theres no hunt here, boys, lets go over there."

With a sigh the men retreat,
To leave hunting to another day,
And from her perching place the foxs angel smiles,
As she watches the men go away.