Red fox lingers

‘round the pumpkin patch

The old farmer over the vale

A solitary figure lumbering

With scythe in hand.

Black crow spiting the fox

From the birch branch,

The grisly voice tinders

Bristling firefur.

Snowwhite paws trotting

On frozen catacomb ground.

Lunging ‘tween thyme, parsley

And basil, pursuing

The odd field mouse

Or other prospective meal.