The Stone Fox Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

I found the stone fox
crouching in a slab of mud,
compacted, dried and airless box
wrought by some far-distant flood.

Imagined him
some day, somewhere,
nose twitching in the slim,
brisk cornfield summer air

catching the scent
of an elusive hare.

Then floods that came and went
year after year

one day caught the sleeping stone
fox unawares:
stripped him to the bone
to lie alone these many, many years.