Watching Foxes

I am watching,
alive the foxes watching me
after the grass is cut.
Seldom barking
but always watching,
watching me.
Faces sharp,
red coal eyes,
gold afire on the stubble on the hillock,
bright fur hostile,
prowling now for the waning hour shadows creeping,
slipping inside wire pens that coop our hens.

I am watching,
alert the foxes watching me
along the edge of night.

2 thoughts on “Watching Foxes

    1. Steve Campbell

      I forgot all about this poem. Thank you for liking it and commenting. It made me go to it and read it again. It pertains to my childhood on the farm, which always takes me back to a romantic time in my life. 👍

Leave a Comment

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.