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,
watching,
waiting,
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.
I’m holding you directly responsible for the shivers now going up and down my spine– nice one! 👍
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. 👍