I am the cunning Fox – Renard is my name
I roam around Bockmer looking for game.
Rabbits, guinea pigs and chickens will do,
and my favourite meal is a duck or two.
Then one day I saw three lovely ones all in one go,
standing on their pond and deep in the snow.
I thought, that evening, a duck for dinner would be nice.
It’d make a change from eating squealing rats or mice.
So around midnight I planned my attack,
to creep slowly around the back.
I cleaned my teeth, I licked my lips and brushed my tail.
I knew my plan was watertight and therefore could not fail.
It was cold and the snow so thick
as I set off to carry out my dastardly trick.
The moon was full, bright and clear,
and as I approached cautiously from the duck house quacking I could hear.
I had to get close, I had to peek and see
which one of these lovely birds would fill my hungry tummy
I was nearly there- whiskers away so to speak -
when the floor gave way a tremendous creak.
I held my breath and closed my eyes
hoping nothing was heard from those inside.
Three beautiful ducks asleep, gorgeous, fat and ready for taking.
Never, never again would they be waking.
I should have listened, I should have waited
and prepared to strike with my heart beat much accelerated.
I wriggled my hips, I wriggled my bottom
and the creaking sound was soon forgotten.
Just then one of these beauties woke up and saw me about to attack,
opened its beak and made a most frightening loud ‘quack’.
Everyone jumped – not least me.
The next thing I knew I was hanging from a tree.
I gritted my teeth and started to pray
then heard the faint sound of the branch slowly give way.
it’s funny how life flashes in front of your eyes,
knowing that soon you may be about to die.
With an almighty crack the branch broke and I was no longer dangling in the breeze.
‘Oh no’ I said, and gave the branch a tighter squeeze.
Too late, I was tumbling and turning; I closed my eyes, I held my breath,
waiting for the inevitable, waiting for death.
Then suddenly I found myself wrapped in something soft and warm that smelt so foul.
I opened my eyes, I had landed in – guess what – an enormous deposit of cow.
Now we foxes are known to be silky, red and clean.
Not like some movie monster whose looks are sometimes quite frightening and obscene.
So to save my coat and my pride as well,
I ran quickly as if being chased by the hounds from hell
Back to my den to wash away this awful smell
and remove all the muck from my large bushy tail.
The path was clear and ice reflected the moonlight and snow.
As I ran across, what I thought was, an empty road.
What happened happened next was all too fast.
I knew that my luck was never going to last.
All I can remember a split second before the lights went out
was a woman driving a car open-mouthed about to shout.
I heard the skidding of tyres on the snow
as it swerved to avoid me not knowing which way to go.
First left, then right, its headlights piercing through the night,
capturing me frozen, my eyes wide with fright.
I just couldn’t move, stuck it would appear, to the road.
It was then that I had visions of being squashed like a big fat toad.
But luck had yet to play her hand of fate
as I found myself running with a car right behind me through a gate.
Bouncing here, bouncing there before it hit me and sending me up in the air.
The driver, still with mouth open, her eyes in a frightened stare.
Only then did I notice something missing that caused me to go pale.
For now I am a fox missing its big bushy red tail – ‘oh hell’
I have never had to endure so much shame,
sitting in my den quietly and in so much pain.
The ducks of Bockmer are happy as can be
knowing they got the last laugh and a piece of me.
It now sadly flutters high above their house for all to see.
For my tail is a warning to fiends and foxes alike
that if you mess with them they’ll likely give you a very nasty bite.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem