The fox

See auburn water flow upon green grass,
Spinning and tumbling from sheer delight.
Black boots. Marking and measuring,
The meter of his artless dance,
Each step a prayer of gratitude.
See flash of white like dandelion clock,
Moving and floating in the breeze,
And sparkling, amber eyes that hint,
At the joy of just existing in that moment.
He who is wild yet still who can be tamed,
Seeks in his sinuous dancing not a master,
But a mate to raise fine cubs with
Who will rejoice in dandelion and daisy,
Drink from the mountain stream,
And growing old together face,
That final, cold of winter time.
And so he capers ever on in hope,
The dancer of the meadow and the woods.

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