The fox scurries through the cornfield

And so the wind’s whispers must yield

As he cocks his head to listen

His fears are openly revealed  

The thick blanket of snow glistens

Covering a stream that thickens

His auburn tail dances like fire

As the pace of the fox quickens

His situation is quite dire

Running will only make him tire

As the hunter’s thuds grow clear

He looks at the moon and enquires

If he’d have something more to fear

After deciding to stop here

To listen to the darkness and

To wait for the man to appear

Heavy steps crunch the washed out land

The fox steps back, but he still stands

Though he knows he cannot withstand

A bullet from the hunter’s hand