I wrote this poem when I was 17, feeling the full effects of my realisation of my past life as a fox.

This particular poem reflects upon a fox seeing in the autumn and the onset of the hunting season (not in the UK now though, hahahahaha! Take that, evil fox killers). He also sees and feels the effects it has on him, his mate, those that he knew etc...

Enjoy!

---

AUTUMN SORROW

A year’s fall in autumn,
Trees aflame, smouldering in foaming rain,
I see myself in every way,
Old friends empty and ragged,
Cages, bones, blood and breath,
Brave in the death of their air.

Tree’s leaching into the ice,
Of winters long forgotten,
But treasured in the morning,
As the sun peels away the dew,
Leaving us soaking tired paws.

Androgynous frost,
And flush freezing to the ears,
Reserved for a process long repeated,
Casting us in red forever sets,
Casting us in oxides of love,
An ally in a heart,
In a female so faithful.

Now the hills light up,
To where I stand,
Wearing my finery, picked out in bone,
As I become but a drone,
And so I link to these spectra,
In an ever-white lens bed.

At least when autumn lives,
I cannot,
No one shall see my blood shed,
Friend of man,
Find me if you can.