The Fox Children Of Winter Poem by Leslie Philibert

Stolen the faces of lost children
they are as old as frost and oak.
Creeping under the thin wind
they wail at the bitten moon.
Not fearing the ice stars they are
as mad as the night is black.
(They drink the rain of the copse
and peek through glass) .

Are they dark as trees?
Yes, they are full of ink and cinder.

Are they packed with legs?
Yes, they fall into snow.

Will they rule these frozen fields?
Yes, they race over cold grass.