The Fox
Following the thread of footprints in
the snow
the cold wind biting,
nothing but the sound of startled crows
and the howl of snow, drifting
across the hawthorn hedgerows
and that feeling of loneliness
wondering where did they go
all the people, whose prints impress
like lost memories in the snow
then out of nowhere, a sound
of rustling in the hedgerow
a fox coming to ground
stalking a grouse, eyes intent on its
prey
invisible as night killing the day.
Rachel Burns
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