A Fox. - Poem by Ann Beard
Quite out of place within the bustle,
trying hard to cross the road.
One misjudged step - suspicious rustle,
how it happened who would know.
As horror strikes each facial muscle
The creature’s heartbeat starts to slow.
A fox lay dying on the street,
once vibrant eyes began to glaze.
Now blind to cars, or careless feet,
he feels no urge to look around.
instead just lay upon the concrete,
oblivious, to passing sound.
A slender dog that once was wild,
in town so out of place.
Thank goodness it was not a child,
words uttered by a passer-by,
and as he hurried on he smiled.
I felt a chill, I heaved a sigh.
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