Crouching alone and always alert,
left to fend
for themselves little fox cubs
know well
how to silently wait, ferns skirting
the cave provide
animal comfort when rubbed
with motherly scents
but how long, it seems, this time
she is in returning.
Their eyes reflect tension as wrong
vibes fill the air
and scared breath pulsates, learning
quickly that danger
is near, desperate bodies shiver
and cautiously
nosing the air alert ears listen again.
We will not know
this pair's fate, but rivers of spilt
fox-blood instil
inner terror, long reigns of horn-fear
and hunting will
forever be bred into red psyche,
for when fur bristles
as caution senses evil man-smell,
wild hearts become
wary and leap to dig deeper dens.