Slick and keen and listening,
ears twitching in the cold.
Muzzle searching constantly,
though anything but bold.
knows the Beasts are near,
off like the first rays of light,
across the stream, under brush,
and through a terrible fright.
The horse and dogs and man,
The Beasts tramble through,
through the streams and brush,
chasing fear through morning dew.
The Fox runs ahead,
as the Beasts bellow behind,
trying to think steadily,
tries to keep a steady mind.
At last finds a hiding place.
Cool dirt under sore paws,
in the den of someone else,
escaping from Beast's jaws.
The dogs trample past the den,
the Beasts give up and go away,
puzzled by the Fox's leave,
the Fox is safe another day.
