The wetland ponds are still today

with coot and moorhen at the edge

and diving ducks where water�s deep.

This peaceful world could be asleep�

but leaping from a clump of sedge

a gold-red fox is hard at play!

The fox is doing doggy things;

it frolics in the morning air

and dances on the fallen reeds,

and snaps off waving heads of seeds.

It executes a skip with flair,

and loops the loop in flaming rings.

This fox is young, a silly pup

with no idea that it�s a pest.

It turns my way and sniffs the air

then ventures forth to stand and stare

and tilt its head � on guard now, lest

I�m dangerous� and then sits up!

It sits up like a well-trained pet,

and watches me � so strange to see

a person sitting in the grass.

I know this moment has to pass,

a fox is vermin! There should be

no meeting point for us, and yet�

I meet the fox�s bright brown eyes

and it looks back. There is no fear -

and wonder links us for a few

more seconds, till I stand, say �Boo!�

and wave my arms and wipe a tear

I should not shed, for I am wise.

I am responsible and Green!

The only time a fox is good

is when it�s dead! I hate them all!

And still those blasted tears will fall.

My fox has fled, as well it should,

it would defile this tranquil scene.