Alfred The Fox. Poem by PAUL COLVIN

Amongst the thickset undergrowth, away from prying eyes,
The crafty, wily scavenger seeks his daily prize,
Crouching low, he’ll walk around, to test his favoured ground
And calculate his every move, he never makes a sound.
His ears are pricked and eyes alert as he picks his way along
The narrow garden pathway, his frame so lean yet strong.
Slowly, softly, stealthily, his body starts to rise
Among dead trees and bushes, perfection for disguise.
He creeps and crawls along the ground then lies so very still,
A single lunge at the helpless bird, he’s finally made a kill
But the cubs are young and waiting, hungry for a meal
So Alfred must go out again, to feed them, kill or steal.
He’ll rummage ‘round the gardens, tearing at the bins
Foraging for the scraps of meat, he hopes to find within,
He rips the bags to pieces, rubbish strewn on the lawn,
Our unwelcome guest is never caught, one sound, and he is gone!
I’ve seen him climb an eight feet fence when startled with a fright
And heard him howl, like the coarsest cough, in the middle of the night.
In summer he’ll lay in front of me, just lazing in the sun,
On roofs or lawn or by the shed, until the day is done.
To me, he’s an enigma, and one I seldom see
But he can rip my bins to shreds, so long as he is free.