Morning Greetings To An Urban Fox Poem by C Richard Miles

Good Morning, Mister Fox, our paths have crossed
This raw December morning cold and grey;
Together, you and I, we seem so lost,
Removed from rural homeland far away.
The urban morning air hangs like a shroud
And wraps itself to stifle all delight
And muffles all the echoes, once so loud,
Of countryside which graced our primal sight.

For now, entombed in city’s mordant gloom,
We are diminished to fleet shadows, swift
As moonlit mists and chilly dewdrops zoom
Away, as dawn’s first struggling sunbeams lift
Our spirits, to re-energise our wills
And tender new ambition to escape
So we might roam, once more, those distant hills
Which are still silhouettes in memory shape.

So, Mister Fox, shall I depart and roam
And, rashly, all commitments blithely shirk
Or leave my wistfulness encaged at home,
And plod my weary, time-trod trek to work?
My choice, I fear, is limited as yours,
Confined to prowl the city streets for scraps,
But in our dreamworlds each of us explores
Our past, pastoral paradise, perhaps.