On Hearing A Fox Poem by Francis Duggan

Out there on the dark hillside the hunting fox does cry
Perhaps he's out seeking a mate under the starlit sky
Or perhaps he calls to his own kind to proclaim his territory
So much to learn of Nature that's how it seems to me
Of the cunning of his elusive kind stories and poems abound
Their type not often seen by day at dawn they go to ground
Of those who have good to say of them not many you will find
And the greatest enemy they have has to be human kind,
A fox crying out on the dark hillside a red or silver gray
A wildborn creature of the night seldom seen out by day
His kind even live in Cities quite adaptable one might say
They scavenge for food and eat dead carcasses and on small creatures prey,
I hear him crying in the night out there on the dark hill
His voice is unmistakeable it sounds so wild and shrill.