Last Night Of The Young Fox Poem by Jim Young

Last night of the young fox

The old boy's tale takes flight.
Nose drip, tea slurping,
his eyes focus distant.
His top lip tight, biting his bottom lip
he sighs long.
Glasses off he rubs his eyes,
takes a big breath, and
slowly replaces his glasses.

Aye, aye, son.
It was long, long ago, you know.
A long time ago.
You don't want to hear this?
Yes grandad. Yes! Yes!
Please, please.
It was when I was a little boy,
just like you, my lad. 

In the crack between day and night,
the fox was shot.
The clouds were red with his blood.
A silence poured over the day.
A chill in the air and in my thoughts.
A long day's path there and back.
The giant moon rolled up the dark
and the night spoke.

You are going home?
Aye, I am.
Footing the leaves of autumn,
step by heavy step drawing
down the cloak of night.
Home, home to a hearty table
with a heavy heart.
The day lies heavy,  
the night syrup seeps.
I am, I am.

Yon small light my totem,
my lifeline thread.
Home in the down deep day.
Home, plod home, plod
foot in front of foot.
The stars know it all
you see. They saw it all,
they saw old foxy fox outfoxed.
The chicken coop will be quiet tonight.

I was a statue where he passes 
the time of day.
Gun cocked the while I waited.
Then he sensed me there that moment
when I blew the light out of his eyes.
Lithe no more he lay heavy.
Off with his bush and boot him over.
You'll no more throttle my hens.

The hunters moon has seen it all before.
Has stopped time.
Has wrapped a cloud around the corpse,
and the breeze that ruffles his fur goodbye.
The dark has drowned the day before.
The stars have shown the way
to eternity in the big bang.
Bang! Bang!

The door creaks open.
Spreading through the cracks the lighthouse beams
snatch at the night then slams it out.
Bang!
Warm on the inside.
Supper on the table.
Cold on the outside.
Reynard's brush swings on the line of night.
The gun is in the rack.
Boots are by the hearth.
Goodnight down the chimney whispers.
A deep bed ends the day.

One day sonny boy 
you too will shoot your fox.
But sleep warm now
For the gun is in the rack,