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#1

A Pair of Foxes

ChrisWritesNow

Aug 21, 2022

238

2 Mins Read

x

I beheld a pair of foxes from a distant, darkling glow,

one who put the sun to shame, the other white as snow.

How they crossed in a tangled wood, only Fate may ever know,

but where they went,

their heads unbent,

they took the woods in tow.

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From where I stood, of bark, of shell, of all that’s ever slow,

my roots of deep, my vines of creep, my timid voice unknown,

a passing thought to match the pace of such ethereal flow,

and yet their eyes,

to such surprise,

could strike the night a blow.

242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPHJoTUy8Yq

Slow, so slow, I ambled out, until my branches fell,

behind a cage of wood and sap, for centuries I dwelled,

though they knew not my sproutling leaves, nor did I quickly tell,

how could they abide,

nor help but guide,

the foundling in their spell?

242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF9UBhovp8D

No sooner did my newfound hands brush these spirits fleet,

Fate destroyed the forest floor and swept all off their feet.

Now in a mossy bed of rock her spotless pelage sleeps,

and mourning sun,

his light now dun,

above her headstone weeps.

242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkuV4Hm8EJz

242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡb1AmOLN5mW

Would I had but just one more pair of ears and arms agrown,

had I but a longer pair of legs to fly across the stone,

to hear your love, to hold you close, to walk the path you’d shown,

but now the dark,

has swallowed stark,

what of you both I’d known.

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Though the fox of orange-red has every hair the same,

a piece of him now rests with her, where none may now reclaim.

Where once I heralded sweet Fate, now I cast the blame,

What godly right,

allowed such night,

to take her as its claim?

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Could such eyes in such a dark, the deepest of the veils,

see her love of endless time, and strengthen what is frail?

May these weeping woods of kin sing their effulgent tale,

to each other true,

not one, but two,

and in such gloom, prevail.

I know not of the whims of Fate, I know not of my end,

I know not of why flowers grow, nor the lives they might portend.

But if I know of any knowns, then here, my knowing lends,

without pause,

though short it was,

I thank these foxes called me Friend.

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To the end I’ll carry you, until we may speak once more of what we’ve seen.

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