A fox cub calmly crossed before me
And I brought my motor to a stop,
To respect a fox's daily right of way-
Bulldozed one day against his will.
Pulling in from the flow I saw him go.
He was naive and young and shy;
Stopping in his tracks, head high,
He stood there asking why of me.
It was a lingering look of blame
As far as the cover of the furze;
We had overun the private space
Of a wild and worthy rustic fellow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem