Crouching alone and always alert,
left to fend for themselves fox cubs
know well how to wait, ferns skirting
the cave provide comfort when rubbed
with motherly scents, but how long
this time she is in returning.
Their eyes show a weariness, wrong
vibes fill the air and pulsate, learning
quickly that danger nears they shiver
and cautiously listen again.
We will not know their fate, but rivers
of spilt fox-blood instil fear, reigns
of terrorised hunting will ever
be bred into their psyche, when red
tails bristle at man-smell, wild hearts
wary tread, and dig deeper beds.
that was really creative and beautiful! your writing is very inspiring. makes me want to try new directions with writing